


The Lost Ones

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: The Lost Ones [7]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Gen, More characters to be added, Tony DiNozzo & Jethro Gibbs Father-Son Relationship, can stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 94,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gibbs is supposed to track down the killers and go home. If a man's responsible, he throws him in jail. If it's a ghost, he lays it to rest. </p><p>Or at least, that's what he's supposed to do. When the situation calls for it, though, he's never been afraid to break a few rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own NCIS.

The lights from the brightly colored lanterns along the hotel garden's path were annoyingly cheerful, especially when they bounced off the crime scene tape. Gibbs had hated them from the first. They reminded him of his second wife's idea of decorating.

Of course, of everything he hated about this garden, the lights weren't exactly the most important thing.

Tony fidgeted anxiously behind him. "You know, I really think this is a waste of time. If there was anything here, I would have found it by now. Trust me, I know this hotel like I know Magnum episodes. And I know Magnum episodes. I've been here for a long time."

Gibbs leaned against the shovel and glanced down at the shallow hole he'd started to dig. "How long?" he asked. Not accusingly like he would have been if this were any other situation, but gently, because he was just a kid.

Had been, the director would say. Still was, as far as Gibbs saw it.

Tony bit his lip. "A while."

Gibbs started digging again. "A while like twenty years, Tony?"

Tony laughed nervously. "Hey, I'm only ten and a half! Well, ten years, five months, and two weeks, and that's close enough, don't you think? I couldn't possibly - "

Gibbs gave him a look. Tony's mouth snapped shut.

He'd been rambling again. He only rambled when he got nervous.

He'd rambled every time they came into this garden while Gibbs investigated the navy officer's death. He'd been practically tripping over his words every time Gibbs came near this bench.

Gibbs wished he didn't have a pretty good idea why.

The shovel hit something. Gibbs dropped it to the side and got out the smaller tools he'd need to brush the remaining dirt off.

It wasn't very far down. Wasn't very big across either, but then, it wouldn't need to be. Tony was pretty small, even for his age.

He was impossibly gentle as he dropped to his knees and brushed the dirt away from the first bone.

It was the skull.

A very small one.

Tony let out a small, strangled noise.

"Gibbs?"

Gibbs had never heard Tony sound so lost and pleading.

He looked up to see Tony's eyes were locked on what was inside the hole.

"Talk to me, Tony."

"I . . . " Tony swallowed and looked away. "That's not me."

"No," Gibbs agreed. "Not anymore. This is you, now." He nodded to where Tony still stood, shaking.

Flickering, more accurately. Not quite as solid as he had been a few moments ago, now that he was scared.

Tony sat beside him. Not quite asking for comfort, but every line in his hunched in shoulders pleading for it.

He was still just solid enough for Gibbs to put an arm around. Tony sniffled a bit, but he scrubbed his eyes quickly.

"It's okay, kid."

"DiNozzo's don't cry," Tony said. Probably trying to sound strong and mature but mostly just sounding like he hurt.

Gibbs felt a stirring of the protective anger that this kid had a habit of provoking in him without even meaning to. He hadn't felt so protective of a kid since -

He slammed the lid on that memory down quickly. This was about Tony, not him.

"What happened?"

Tony shook his head.

"Tony. I can help you."

Tony kept shaking his head, face pale and strained. "He didn't mean to," he finally said quietly. "He just forgot is all. He came back. It would have been fine if I hadn't been so stupid."

Gibbs very much doubted that. "Oh, yeah?"

"I had a fever." Tony's face screwed up in disgust at himself. "I should have gone and told somebody instead of just getting room service. But no, I just went to sleep, like an idiot."

Gibbs squeezed his shoulders and hated the way his arm passed through, just a little. "Did you wake up?"

Tony snorted. "Yep. Lot of good it did me. I was too weak to even call for help. How pathetic is that?"

"Pathetic's not exactly the word I'd use for it," Gibbs said in a deceptively mild voice. "What made you stick around afterward?"

Tony shrugged, looking smaller than ever. "I knew my dad would come back eventually. I wanted to see how he'd react. Guess that was pretty petty of me, huh?"

"Did you want to see him hurt or want to see that he cared?"

"Doesn't matter," Tony muttered. "He came back, and he just panicked. It would have looked pretty bad, I guess, even though it wasn't really his fault."

Gibbs could feel that slow rage building again. "So he left you out here."

"I tried to talk to him," Tony said. His voice was barely audible. "He couldn't even see me." He looked up quickly. "I know that doesn't mean anything. Some people just can't, no matter how bad they want to."

"Yeah," Gibbs said quietly. "Yeah, that's true. What were you waiting for after that?"

Tony swallowed. "I just wondered how long it would take until somebody would notice. And I knew he would come back eventually."

Twenty years until somebody cared enough about the reports of a minor haunting to check on it, and even then, it had been the murder that had prompted it. "Did he come back?"

"Not yet, but he will," Tony said determinedly. "I know he will."

"You trying to convince me or yourself?"

Tony wouldn't look at him. "I have a lot to do while I wait," he said instead. "Do you have any idea how many pranks you can pull when only about a tenth of the people can see you? And I figured out how to move things around and be solid and stuff, so I can watch all the TV I want."

"That all you watch?" Gibbs asked, hating himself for having to ask.

Tony shot a glance at him. "I people watch a little," he said warily. "I like playing with the other kids."

"You play with Jason?"

Tony shot to his feet. "I didn't kill Jason!"

Gibbs stayed sitting. "I know you didn't," he said calmly. "Our medical examiner said his father did that."

Tony bit his lip.

"You liked him, right? Came back to his room so he could show you something. Only his father couldn't see you, could he? Just saw his son talking to himself. Jason wasn't like his dad. He was a disappointment. I bet his father told him that, didn't he? Didn't want a weirdo for a son." The words fell in an easy rhythm that felt far too familiar to an interrogation technique.

"Jason wasn't weird!"

"No. Just liked books a little too much for his father's taste, yeah? And then he saw him talking to thin air, and he got mad. It wasn't the first time. Our ME's found plenty of evidence to confirm that. Only this time he went too far, and you tried to stop him. You grabbed the lamp from the table - "

"I didn't know it would kill him!" Tony's eyes were red. "I didn't mean to!"

"Bet you got a lot stronger after that," Gibbs pointed out, hating himself as he said the words. "Anybody can see you now if you want them to. You could have gotten Jason some help."

"I didn't know," Tony pleaded with him. "I didn't know!" He was crying now full out despite what his father would have thought of it. He wiped his nose on his shirt. "You've gotta believe me!"

Gibbs broke. "I know," he told him. "I believe you. Come 'ere." He pulled him back down beside him. "There was nothing you could have done. By the time help got there, he would have been gone. At least this way he didn't go alone."

"Really?" Tony whispered.

"I look like the comforting lies type to you, DiNozzo?"

"No, sir."

"Gibbs," he corrected. "You're gonna be OK, kid."

Tony nodded jerkily. "Why didn't Jason want to stay?" he finally asked. "He could have stayed."

"Don't know. Maybe there was someone he wanted to go see. Maybe he was just afraid of being hurt again."

Tony sniffed. "Would have been nice to have some company while I wait."

Gibbs resisted the urge to wince. Now for the hard part. "Tony, your dad's not coming," he told him gently.

"You don't know that," he insisted stubbornly.

"He's never gonna be what you want him to be even if he does. We're going to find him, Tony. And I promise I'm going to make him pay for what he did to you, and you're going to get something a lot better than a little hole in a garden. But after that, you're going to have to pass on."

"No."

"Tony."

"I'm not hurting anyone!"

Gibbs looked meaningfully up at a certain hotel room window.

"Not on purpose! And I was really helpful with your case, wasn't I? I showed you around everywhere, and I told you about Jason and how his dad was mean to him. Can't I stay with you? I could be really helpful. I could go through walls and find stuff and tell you if there were any other ghosts around, and, and - "

"It's against the rules. We're supposed to lay you to rest, Tony. If I can't find a way to do it peacefully, they'll make me fill the grave with salt and iron."

Tony's eyes went wide. "You wouldn't do that," he said, voice shaky. "You don't hurt kids. You're not like that."

Gibbs sighed. No, he wouldn't do that, but the director would send someone who would. "So tell me what it's going to take, kid. I can't take you with me. If nothing else, you're ten years old."

"Ten and a half," he muttered mutinously.

"And you've killed once," he said gently. "I know you didn't mean to, but they'll think that it makes you dangerous. They'll think it makes you more likely to do it again."

"So they don't have to know! I can be solid now, look!"

"Tony - "

"I can do this, too!" There was a sudden blur and then Tony was standing before him, now thirty years old, like he should have been but had never gotten a chance to be. He was in a suit like the one the patrons of the hotel favored. "Special Agent DiNozzo. What do you think?"

Gibbs lips twitched against his will.

He was a shapeshifter. He was even more powerful than Gibbs had thought. He should be calling in reinforcements with iron, not actually considering this, but . . .

"If someone finds out . . . "

"They won't! I'll be super careful. Uber careful. There will never be anyone in the history of the world that will be as careful as I'll be."

He'd always given in when Kelly had looked at him like that, too. "Do not make me regret this," he warned.

Tony's face split into a brilliant smile. "I won't. I'll make you proud, Boss. Promise."

He raised an eyebrow as he pushed himself to his feet. "Boss?"

"I work for you now, right? I'm a special agent."

"Abby'll have to work her magic to get you hired first," he said. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. A ten-year-old in the field, really?

Well, a thirty-year-old, sort of. And it wasn't as if he could actually get hurt, surely.

"This is a terrible idea," he grumbled as he led the way back to his hotel room.

"This is a fantastic idea," Tony corrected. "Hey, can I pick what they put on my tombstone? I want it to be something good. A movie quote, maybe."

Gibbs gave him a sidelong glance.

"Too expensive?" Tony asked meekly.

Gibbs just reached over and tousled his hair.

_Whatever you want, kid. Whatever you want._


	2. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making things work isn't always easy.

There were plenty of things in life more frightening than facing down a suspect who had a gun in the bottom of an old parking garage. Gibbs had faced down a fair few of those things. Having a man run toward him, gun raised - He was focused, had his own gun raised and lined up for the perfect shot, was shouting for the man to freeze, but fear didn't enter much into it.

The man didn't stop. Gibbs squeezed the trigger at the same time the man fired. A third shot echoed from behind Gibbs.

The bullet whistled over his left shoulder towards the stairs. The suspect's body went down, one hole neatly in the center of his forehead, one not far off. Tony was getting better.

Blood pooled from the body.

Unfortunately, their suspect, too focused to even realize he was dead, had kept running, body or no body.

Gibbs had never been hit by a ghostly bullet, and he didn't intend to start now. He snatched the salt pouch from his waist and flung it at the oncoming spirit.

Most people assumed the little plastic pouches were just little bags made to be opened so that agents could throw a handful of salt at a dangerous ghost.

Most people were wrong.

The pouches were held to the belt by velcro so that they'd be easily detachable, and there was no flap to open them with. They were weighted for throwing and designed to burst on impact.

The pouch hit the suspect in the chest and burst open. A clump of salt sprayed onto his sweatshirt and fell down onto his jeans.

To someone alive, it was nothing. But to a ghost, there was no such thing as "just" clothes. It was all part of the same essence.

The salt burned like acid through the first layer of essence. The man screamed and fell to his knees. His hands frantically pawed at the small white grains.

The salt got on those too. His arms started convulsing and flickering. Every time they became temporarily less substantial, the salt fell further through until it was hopelessly embedded.

Gibbs couldn't afford to look away in case the spirit was still dangerous. Even if it wasn't, some things needed to be witnessed. Rule 49.

There was a strangled, gagging sound from behind him, and his heart twisted.

"Look away, Tony," he said quietly but firmly. "You don't need to see this."

He could hear Tony stumble down the last few steps. "Boss - "

The screams stopped echoing off the concrete pillars of the garage and faded into small, pained whimpers. The man was curling in on himself. Clawing at his arms as he moaned.

Gibbs' jaw clenched, but he didn't look away. The man seemed smaller now. Fainter.

He was fading. Good. The last thing Gibbs wanted to do was have to hit him again.

"He needs help, Boss," Tony pleaded. "You don't let suspects bleed out. Why's this different?"

Because if there was a way to keep a ghost locked up, they hadn't found it yet. Because once salt got that deeply embedded, there was nothing to be done but to watch and remember the consequences and the cost of what he'd done.

The pain must have finally been too much. The man was gone. Salt rained to the floor.

He turned to Tony. The kid might still have been in the form of his agent, but he'd never seen Tony's eyes so wide and young.

"Tony," he started hopelessly. How was he supposed to explain this to a kid?

Except Tony might still have the mind of a child, but he had thirty years of hard experience twisted into it. Not quite a kid, not quite a grown up, and definitely not someone that could be predicted.

The lost look vanished from Tony's eyes, and his agent was back, mouth quirking up in a bitter half smile that could have won an Oscar but didn't fool Gibbs. "Not quite like the horror movies, huh, Boss? I was expecting him to shrivel up like a slug. Hey, remember that scene in _Ghost Blood_ when the cop throws the french fries in the ghost kid's face? The special effects were awful, but I gotta admit, the screaming was right on - " Tony'd ducked away from his outstretched hand and was edging around the small pile of salt like it was lava.

"Tony!"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to disturb the body, Boss. I know better than to get on Ducky's bad side." He crouched beside the body and cocked his head. "Maybe less _Ghost Blood_ and more _Ghost Blood II_." He scratched at something on the side of his head. "You know - "

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and stalked forward. "Tony," he said, voice deceptively soft. "What's that on the side of your head?"

Tony glanced up at him, surprised. "Oh, bullet clipped me earlier. I've been trying to get it out, but it's being stubborn. Think Ducky can get it for me?"

"You have a bullet in your _head_ , DiNozzo!" Gibbs exploded.

Tony blinked at him. "Yeah, so?"

"You're lucky you weren't - " Weren't what, killed? He'd been there and done that. The bullet wound probably didn't even hurt.

Somehow that just made him angrier.

Tony grimaced. "It kind of itches. Mind going ahead and calling Ducky? We'll need him for the body, anyway."

Gibbs bit back the string of curses that wanted to escape and punched in the numbers on his phone to call Duck with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Ah, Jethro! What - "

"Got a body," he growled. "Is Gerald in today?"

"Yes, why?"

He bit back another string of curses. Gerald didn't know. "Never mind. Just bring something to dig a bullet out with." He snapped the phone shut.

There wasn't even any blood. Tony could probably conjure some up if he thought about it, but he hadn't bothered to. Why would he?

He could have lost Tony today. Would have, if the kid had been anyone other than who he was. And the kid was just nattering on about movie references with that shiny fake smile like he didn't have the first idea just how badly he'd scared him.

He yanked the NCIS cap off his head and shoved it on Tony's. "Wear this so Gerald doesn't see when he and Duck show up."

Tony grinned up at him. "Just like in - "

"It's not a movie, Tony!" Gibbs' yell finally cut Tony off. "It's not some game. This isn't fake blood. These aren't fake guns. This is real. There are real consequences. Being able to shrug off a bullet to the head doesn't change that!"

The fake grin slid off Tony's face like his third wife's cheap makeup had in the rain. "I know that, Boss," he said seriously.

Gibbs glared at him. "Do you? Because you sure aren't acting like it."

"I do," Tony insisted. "He got hurt. You could get hurt. Just because I can't get hurt doesn't mean other people can't. I know that."

"You can't get hurt," Gibbs repeated disbelievingly. "You can't get hurt. Well, no, Tony, you've got nothing to worry about. Unless Gerald sees Duck pulling that bullet out of your head, of course. Or unless someone switches out the sugar and the salt in the coffee one of these days as a joke, and you drink some by accident."

"You don't let me drink coffee," Tony pointed out in what he probably thought was a reasonable voice.

"And these?" Gibbs yelled, ripping his spare salt patch off his belt. Tony flinched back. "They train us to be careful with our guns, but its free range out there with these. What's the harm if an agent gets hit by one by accident? They'd get more damage in a food fight. You gonna be able to shrug one of these off?"

Tony looked down. He poked his own pouch gingerly, like it might go off at any moment.

"Well?" Gibbs demanded. He knew full well he was being too harsh, but he couldn't seem to stop. It could all too easily be Tony one day, thrashing on the floor until he finally broke. Didn't Tony get that?

"No, sir," Tony said with exaggerated respect. "Sorry, sir. Shall I go check his car for the evidence we originally came for, sir?"

They didn't say a single unnecessary word to each other for the rest of the day.

Ducky dug the bullet out of DiNozzo's head without too much trouble. Gibbs stared at it for a good thirty seconds before snapping out of it and getting back to work. There would be a lot of paperwork to do for this one. There'd been a shooting _and_ an exorcism. Legal was going to have a field day.

The drive home was . . . quiet. Too quiet. He was used to a chattering Tony slowly shedding the veneer of agent and slipping into a younger and younger self until he was a bubbling ten year old bursting through the door and clamoring for supper.

This Tony just stared out the window and picked at his plate.

Ghosts didn't need to eat, but they liked to, and it gave them a burst of energy. It might not be dangerous for Tony to skip supper, but it worried him.

Rule 6: Never say you're sorry. He wasn't about to start breaking that rule now, but he'd hoped making Tony's favorites would smooth things over between them without having to say a word.

Guess not.

He still tucked him into bed in what had once been the guest bedroom and was now filled with toy cars and posters of Magnum. If his dad came over, he'd think Gibbs had gone and gotten him another grandchild and neglected to mention it.

He sort of had. Good thing his dad wouldn't be coming over anytime soon, then.

His dad. Three ex-wives. He had a long list of people he'd pushed away, most without meaning to.

He couldn't afford to do it again. Not with Tony.

He stood in the middle of his kitchen for a long minute. He'd gone through it with a fine tooth comb when he'd first brought Tony home. It was amazing how many things had salt in them. Of course, he'd never had much food in here in the first place, so it hadn't taken him long to go through it.

There was more now, all carefully checked. That didn't quite stop him from getting the urge to check it all again anyway, but he did manage to stamp it down. He was being ridiculous. Tony was safe.

He almost headed down to his basement to work on his boat, but there was bourbon down there, and if there was one thing he couldn't afford to do around Tony, it was drink.

_"My father was normally too drunk to hurt anybody."_

He hadn't missed the "normally" part of that sentence either.

Anthony DiNozzo Sr. had a lot to answer for, but thinking about that wasn't helping his urge to head to the basement, so he growled and headed upstairs to bed.

He was still staring at the ceiling two hours later when the door creaked open and a small flashlight flicked on. The beam danced across the bed. A small worried face was visible for a moment before the eyes widened and the flashlight quickly clicked off.

Gibbs sat up. "Tony?"

" . . . Yes?" he finally answered.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "You should be asleep."

"I can't sleep."

Gibbs frowned. "Nightmare?" After the day they'd had, he wouldn't blame him.

"Noooo . . . "

"What's the problem, then?" He kept his voice gentle as he worked his way around to where Tony was clutching the door frame, flashlight still in one hand, and a booklet under one arm.

Tony rocked back and forth. Gibbs' frown deepened. He flipped on the light and crouched down in front of him. "Tony?"

"I, uh. Never sleep. Can't. Ghost thing." He shrugged uncomfortably.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "It's never stopped you before."

Tony winced. "Yeah, uh. About that. I kind of just . . . liked-it-when-you-tucked-me-in." The last words came out in a jumbled rush. "It was nice. I've been. Um. Sneaking up to read the NCIS regulations and stuff." He waved the handbook under his arm in explanation. "'Cause I want to be good at this. Like, really, really, good at this. Only tonight I was thinking about earlier and about how you could get hurt, and about how I could get hurt, and I guess I just wanted to make sure . . . " He trailed off. "Which was stupid. Obviously. I'll just . . . Go back to bed now. Sorry." He started backing away.

"Hey, hey! Easy there. It's not stupid, Tony. None of it."

Tony looked up at him hopefully.

Gibbs took the handbook and flipped through it. "You've been reading through this every night?" That took some dedication even for a seasoned agent. This stuff was as dry as dirt.

Tony nodded.

"That's good work, Tony." He set it down on the floor.

Tony's grin lit up the room.

He could leave it there, he knew. Tony was happy. He'd never bring up the argument again.

But . . .

"I'm sorry. About earlier."

Tony's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me," Gibbs grumbled.

"What about Rule 6?"

"There are exceptions to every rule, kid."

Tony's eyes took on a considering light. " _Every_ rule?"

The eyebrows went up.

"Right. Sorry. Er, I mean - " Tony floundered for a moment before pulling out another grin. "Night, Boss!"

The grin couldn't quite hide the shadows still in his eyes though, so Gibbs caught his arm before he could go. "I won't let what happened today happen to you," he told him.

Tony swallowed. "You can't be sure about that."

"I protect my people," Gibbs reminded him. "I'm going to protect you, Tony."

"But what if the one I carry breaks by accident? What if someone throws a french fry at me?"

"Tony. Trust me."

Tony took a deep breath, looked at him, and nodded. "Okay."

"Good. And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Your pouch has sand in it, not salt. Abby made sure of that."

"Oh. Huh." He frowned. "What if I need to fight another ghost?"

"That's what mine's for."

Tony considered that and apparently deemed it acceptable because he nodded. He picked his handbook up off the floor but hesitated before doing anything else. "Um, Gibbs? Can I read in here tonight?"

_"Daddy, I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you and Mommy tonight?"_

Tony was already backing away. Gibbs could practically see an apology forming in his mouth.

"Sure, kid. Just don't start reading regulations out loud. My dreams are weird enough as it is."

Tony brightened. "Oh! Did you know there's a rule about not being allowed to wear iron jewelry when visiting a witness in case there's a registered ghost on the premises?"

"I said _don't_ ," Gibbs grumbled. That didn't stop him from swinging up onto the bed. "Night, kid."

"Night, Gibbs."

Strange how he dropped off to sleep not ten minutes after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote in italics about Tony's dad from episode "Chained". As far as I'm aware, the movies referenced aren't real. I just figured that in a world with very real, very prominent ghosts, horror movies might be a little bit different. And scarier, both for living people and ghosts.
> 
> Next up, Kate comes into the picture. Chapter's already written and just needs to be edited, so it should be up soon.


	3. Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs is determined not to turn this into a habit.
> 
> (Gibbs suspects this might be a lost cause.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far I've been referencing episodes but not basing chapters around them. This one is an exception to that rule. It's an adaptation to "Yankee White", the very first NCIS episode. I considered rewriting it entirely but ultimately decided there was no point and just reworked a few select scenes.
> 
> Upon examining the end effect, I was pleased . . . Until I remembered that not all of you have been marathoning NCIS like maniacs for the past few months, and, as such, might not have seen "Yankee White" in years, if ever.
> 
> So, recap! A navy commander dies mysteriously on Air Force One. The FBI, NCIS, and Secret Service fight over jurisdiction. NCIS manages to trick the FBI into leaving the plane, but Kate figures it out and is on the plane when they take off with. Gibbs is ordered to turn the body over when they land, but instead he has DiNozzo hide in a body bag and hands that over. Fornell is not amused. Another man from the plane, Major Kerry, dies. Abby figures out how they were poisoned, Gibbs figures out the terrorist plot, and the bad guy is handled. Kate resigns from the Secret Service due to her previous relationship with Kerry. Gibbs hires her.
> 
> That's the canon version, at least. Now for mine.

Tony hadn't stopped frowning at Secret Service Agent Rachel Cranston since they got on the plane. It was making Gibbs edgy.

"DiNozzo, with me," he said, nodding his head towards the hallway with the closet armory. Tony followed him. "What's gotten into you? Secret Service making you edgy?" They were supposed to be the best when it came to ghost detecting, after all. Considering Agent Cranston hadn't even blinked at Tony despite Gibbs' fears, he wasn't impressed.

Tony looked a little startled. "You can't see her?"

"See who?"

"Dunno. Haven't gotten a chance to talk to her. She's just a little wisp of a thing. Looks more like a ring of smoke than a girl. She must be pretty close to fading." The last word made Tony look even more uncomfortable for a minute before he shrugged it off. "She's pretty good at hiding. That's probably why you didn't see her."

Or maybe my eyesight's going in more ways than one, Gibbs thought but didn't say. Talk of his second sight going always made Tony skittish although he wasn't really sure why. At this point, Tony could make himself seen by anyone he liked, second sight or not. Even if the case that had brought them together hadn't ensured that, the kills in the line of duty would have.

Gibbs didn't like thinking about those kills as thinking about them always made him question the rightness of what he was doing all over again, so he turned his mind back to the present. He didn't do Tony the discourtesy of asking if he was sure. Of course he was sure. "Does Agent Cranston know?"

"Not sure. The ghost's hanging around her a lot, but that doesn't mean she can see her."

Always "him" or "her", never "it" like most of the world would say, no matter how far gone the ghost was. Only natural, Gibbs supposed. He'd started doing the same thing. "Do you think she has something to do with our Navy commander's death?"

"Don't see how she could be. If she'd killed him, she should be a lot more substantial than she is. I'm telling you, Boss, I could barely see her, and, well, you know."

If anyone could see her, it would be Tony. Yeah, he knew.

Agent Cranston popped her head around the corner. "Discussing the case?"

"Discussing our stowaway," Gibbs said. "You know you got a ghost wrapped around you like a boa constrictor?"

The color drained out of Cranston's face. Her hand went to the salt pouch at her waist.

"Easy, easy," Tony said hurriedly. "It's more like a hug, really. Let's not get out the salt just yet. One good pinch might send her over the edge."

"Over the edge is rather the point, Agent DiNozzo," Cranston said tensely. "If there's a ghost, how come I can't see it?"

"She's wispy. Kind of cute, really," Tony said.

"I've got good eyes. I should be able to see her."

"No one's got better eyes than DiNozzo," Gibbs told her. He turned to his agent. "See if you can get her to talk."

"On it, Boss." His eyes focused on something midway up Cranston's chest.

"Hey!" she snapped.

"It's not my fault," he protested. "Tell her to go stand somewhere else." He looked appealingly at Gibbs.

Gibbs could hardly tell Cranston that his Senior Field Agent was still half convinced girls had cooties. His lips twitched. "Just get on with it."

"Right, Boss." He swallowed. "So. Um. Hey. I'm Tony. Who are you?"

Gibbs strained his ears. There was a possibility he could still hear something even if he couldn't see her.

Tony scowled. "Hey, come on. You're making me look bad in front of my boss. I've already seen you. You might as well answer the question."

Assuming there was something to hear, that was.

Tony glanced up. "She says her name's Kate."

The remaining color on Cranston's face drained out of it.

"You know her?" Gibbs asked.

"I - " Cranston looked lost. "How old is she?"

Tony considered. "Her face is a little clearer now. She looks pretty young. Maybe ten?"

Gibbs could have sworn he heard the faint sound of a scornful voice.

"Oh, _twelve_ ," Tony said. "Like that's so much better than ten. What's wrong with - "

"Tony," Gibbs said. _Your inner ten year old is showing again._

Tony colored. "Sorry, Boss."

Cranston looked like she needed to sit down. "Kate?" she whispered.

Gibbs helped her back into the main area and into a seat. "Your daughter?"

Tony had followed them. "Sister," he corrected before Cranston got a chance to. "What happened?"

Knowing Tony, he was probably asking Kate. Cranston answered anyway.

"We were just kids," she said dazedly. "She was arguing with one of our brothers. She always wanted to be in the Secret Service, you know. That's why I . . . " She trailed off. "That doesn't matter. Will told her she couldn't because she was a girl. Push came to shove, and it wouldn't have been a big deal except - " She swallowed hard.

"She was standing beside a pool," Tony said gently. "She cracked her head on the bottom and passed out. Will panicked. He couldn't get her out in time."

"He get in trouble?" Gibbs asked.

Cranston brushed at her eyes. "Not legal trouble. He was just a kid, and he didn't mean to. Accidental death and all that. The family wasn't the same after that, though."

Gibbs could understand that. "Is she angry at him?" he asked Tony.

Tony listened for a moment. "For killing her? No. Apparently she's still ticked about the argument, though. She's determined to prove him wrong."

The faintest sound of an angry voice.

"And she's looking after her sister," Tony added. "She doesn't sound as sure about that one, though. Guess she knows you can look after yourself."

"Kate," Cranston whispered again. Tears rolled down her face. "Why didn't you let me know you were there?"

"I don't think she can," Tony said quietly. "All she's got to hang onto is a twenty year old argument and a protection detail she knew from the start you didn't really need. It's not enough to give her much strength."

"How can you see her?" she accused. "You didn't even know her."

Tony gave her his flashiest grin. "Because I'm Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." He glanced at the time. "We'll be landing soon, Boss. What's the game plan?"

"Did Kate see anything?"

Tony listened for a minute. "Ew, gross." He looked up. "Nothing to do with the Navy commander's death, but she did see her sister flirt with some guy named Kerry, and she wants her to stop. Something about regulations and her sister losing her job." He looked up expectantly.

Cranston colored. "We work together. Technically we're not supposed to, but we don't let it influence our work. It's just flirting, anyway. It's not like we're dating."

"Rule 12," Gibbs said.

"What?"

"Never date a coworker," Gibbs told her.

"Never heard you say that one before, Boss."

"Well, no, DiNozzo. None of the women at work are exactly your type."

"We aren't dating," Cranston repeated. She still looked a little stunned. "And it's none of your business, anyway."

Gibbs shrugged and turned to DiNozzo. "I talked to Morrow. Jurisdiction's going to be tricky on this one. The FBI's demanding the body."

"So?" Tony asked expectantly.

Gibbs resisted the urge to wince. He hated to ask this of him, but . . .

"How do you feel about another trip inside a body bag?"

"As long as this one fits better than the last one," Tony said cheerfully. Gibbs glared at him. Cranston gaped. "What?"

 

Well, they'd won the body, for all the good that did them. Now if Ducky and Abby could only figure out what killed him, they'd be golden. In the meantime, they had a president to protect from potential assassins and terrorists.

"It's just like that movie," Tony said cheerfully. "Remember the one, Boss? Harrison Ford, Liesel Matthews . . . "

Cranston raised her eyebrows. She looked like she'd recovered from her earlier shock pretty well. "The president could be attacked any minute, and you're making movie references. How old are you, twelve?" She winced at the last sentence even as it came out of her mouth.

"Ten and a half," Gibbs corrected absently.

Cranston snorted. Tony beamed.

He'd never get used to how happy Tony was that he remembered the simplest things about him. Tony's father had a lot to answer for.

Gibbs' cellphone rang. He listened to Ducky grimly for a minute before snapping it shut. "Kerry's dead," he said bluntly. "Same thing that killed the commander. Abby finally figured it out. Someone poisoned them."

Cranston had gone white. "I thought you checked the food already."

"Wasn't in the food." Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem very upset for someone who just found out a friend's dead."

"I have a job to do, Agent Gibbs. I don't have the luxury of falling to pieces." Despite her words, she was shaking.

Tony's eyes widened. "Agent Cranston!" He darted forward and grabbed her. "Call for help, Boss, now!"

Agent Cranston shoved him away. "I'm fine. Get off me!"

"We need a doctor!" Tony yelled. He turned to Gibbs desperately. "She's flickering, Boss. I can see it."

"Tell that doctor to hurry it up!" Gibbs barked. He grabbed Cranston's arm and forced her down onto a seat. A wisp of something was just visible curled around her arm.

"I'm fine," she insisted. Her hands were still shaking.

"The poison was on their clothes," Gibbs told her. "Is there any way they could have gotten to all three of you?"

Cranston closed her eyes. "I don't see how - Oh, no." Her face turned ashen. "I saw them both there at different times."

"Where?" Gibbs demanded.

"Same laundry service," she whispered.

He could see the doctor pushing his way down the hallway. He tossed his phone to DiNozzo. "Call Abby. See if there's an antidote."

The wisp of smoke was solidifying, but he didn't have time to worry about that now. Cranston had started choking.

The doctor pushed him out of the way. He could hear Tony talking frantically to Abby. A nurse crouched on Cranston's other side.

The faint outline of a little girl appeared, clutching her sister's convulsing hand.

"I'm losing her!"

Gibbs' mouth clenched.

Cranston went still.

"She's not breathing!"

The nurse started CPR. Kate took deep, gulping breaths beside her sister like she was trying to breathe for her. She didn't even seem to notice that the nurse had passed straight through her.

Nothing.

Tony noticed first. He snapped the phone shut with a small, "Never mind, Abby."

"They're still trying, Tony."

Tony shook his head, eyes glistening. He flickered for just a half second. For an eye blink, he was just a kid again, all dressed up in funeral blacks. Then he was playing the role of agent again, running a hand through his hair and kicking the plane wall.

The doctor sat back and scrubbed a hand over his face wearily. "Call the time."

Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment before grabbing Tony's arm. "Easy there," he said quietly. "It'll be alright."

"Tell that to Kate, Boss."

He turned to see a now very visible little girl in a swimsuit with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. A thin line of blood trickled down from her head.

It was a proven scientific fact that it was easiest for ghosts to appear as they had looked when they had died.

Of course, it was also thought to be scientific fact that ghosts couldn't cry, and this was the second example he'd seen of the problems with that theory.

Let the scientists say what they liked; he called it as he saw it.

The medics started prepping to take the body away. Gibbs crouched in front of the stunned little girl. "Hey, Kate," he said gently. "I'm Gibbs. It's nice to meet you."

"They hurt her," she said blankly.

"Yeah, they did. But we're going to catch them, okay?"

"He always does," Tony said from behind him. "He's really good at it."

Something was making Gibbs' gut churn. "Why another one?" he muttered.

He and Tony shared a look before Gibbs pushed himself to his feet and they both took off running.

Only one reason to target her: distraction.

"DiNozzo! Guard the president!"

Tony split off from him.

Just like that movie, Tony had said. And just like in the movie that Tony had convinced him to watch, Gibbs could see one of the so-called reporters moving towards the weapons locker.

Gibbs drew his gun and headed towards the terrorist.

The man grabbed a machine gun out of the weapons cabinet and started firing. Gibbs ducked around the corner for cover. He fired as he went. The man let out a yell.

Not his best work, if the man still had breath to do it, but he couldn't afford to let the man get off a clear shot by peering around to get a better look.

Kate had no such inhibitions.

She flew past Gibbs, pigtail swinging.

No shots rang out. The man couldn't see her.

She'd be too weak to levitate a gun. If she was going to kill the man, it was going to have to be up close and personal in a way only a ghost killing could be.

He could hear more shots from the direction Tony had gone. He needed to end this now before Kate did something they would all regret.

He leaned around the corner and fired at the man.

The shot hit him right between the eyes.

Judging by the way blood was leaking out of his ears when it did, though, he was already too late.

The body hit the floor. Blood leaked from the head and the leg where Gibbs had clipped him earlier.

Kate was standing exactly where he had been. She was considerably more solid now.

"Kate," he said carefully.

She turned to him.

Her eyes were red.

The shooting had stopped. He felt the illogical need to go see if Tony was all right, but for now he had to deal with the new threat.

He set his gun down carefully. "You saved the president," he told her. "Just like a Secret Service Agent. Your sister must be proud."

Kate shuddered.

Gibbs changed tactics. "Remember Tony?"

Kate's nose wrinkled. "He's a pig. Did you hear what he told me earlier?"

Her eyes had calmed a bit.

Gibbs chuckled. "Well, you know what they say about pigtail pulling."

"He's so immature," Kate sniffed.

Gibbs crouched down to her level. "I guess you'll just have to cut him some slack. You _are_ older than him after all."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

That was better. Just a girl, now. No more blood in the eyes.

The clothes had changed too. She was wearing a school uniform now. Plaid skirt, white blouse. That was a good sign. Healthier.

"Really. I wasn't joking earlier when I said he was ten years old."

She edged a little closer to him. "How come he looks like a grown up, then?"

Tony had walked up behind them as quiet as a - Well, a ghost. Gibbs hated it when he did that. Surprising people was supposed to be his job.

Tony grinned at Kate. "It's a trick. I can teach you, if you like." He turned to Gibbs. "Got the bad guys, by the way. See you did, too."

"Well done," he told him, fighting the urge to smile himself at Tony's beaming smile. Then the rest of what Tony said hit him. "Teach her? Why would she need to know?"

Tony blinked at him innocently. "Why wouldn't she?"

Gibbs sighed. "Tony, she has to go."

"Yeah, the Secret Service glimpsed her earlier and don't want her hanging around," Tony agreed. "Sorry, Kate," he added quickly. "So I thought maybe she could come with us."

"No."

"Why not?" Tony asked in his most reasonable tone. "She wants to be a federal agent, you want another member on the team. She needs company, you keep talking to Ducky about me 'socializing with people my own age'."

"Technically, I'm older than you," Kate reminded him sweetly.

"Not helping," Tony hissed. He smiled brightly. "Come on, Boss. Please?"

"No."

"You're going to turn a little girl who just lost her sister in to the agency?" he demanded.

Gibbs turned to Kate. "You protected the president. You avenged your sister. What more do you want?" He could not keep taking in stray kids. He couldn't.

"I want to prove to Tony that girls can _too_ run faster than boys," she said promptly.

"Just look at her, Boss. She hasn't run a race in years. And in that skirt? Beating me in a race could take ages. If she ever does."

Kate stuck her tongue out at him. Tony stuck his tongue out right back.

On the one hand, even Gibbs had to admit this was a terrible idea.

On the other hand, the only other option was to salt her. And if things had been different . . . If Kelly hadn't passed on, and someone had come after his little girl like that . . .

If Franks was here, he would kill him.

"I'm not taking her into the field."

"Of course not, Boss. Not until I get her trained up a bit."

"Tony . . . " His tone would have sent any other agent running for cover.

Of course, any other agent hadn't been tucked into bed by him, so Tony might have an excuse for just grinning brightly back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on characterization and liberties.
> 
> For those of you who have watched "Yankee White" recently, you'll notice I took a few liberties with the terrorist plot. Blame the Butterfly Effect.
> 
> Rachel Cranston appears in canon as a psychologist and Kate's sister, and she's very different than how she's presented here, I know. I believe that Kate's death at such a young age would have affected her a lot; if you have a different view, feel free to discuss it in a comment.


	4. Medium Rare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raising two ghosts isn't always easy.

There had been a few things he and Tony'd had to work out when Tony had first joined Gibbs' team.

Paychecks, for example.

Gibbs had to admit, that one had blindsided him a little.

He'd been thinking of it as adopting a kid who happened to go to work with him, not as human resources having no idea Tony was anything other than what he appeared to be thanks to the combined efforts of Abby and Ducky, and, thus, they had him listed as an agent who needed to be paid.

Tony had stared at the first one blankly before looking up at Gibbs. "What am I supposed to do with this? Give it to you?"

Blindsided or not, Tony'd definitely earned it. "It's yours."

Tony'd looked a little panicky. "But what am I supposed to do with it?" Another thought had hit him and his eyes had widened. "Does this mean I have to pay taxes?"

So, there had been a few details they hadn't thought all the way through. They'd worked it out. Or, rather, Abby had.

There had also been the question of whether he was an adult who sometimes had a kid's body or a kid who sometimes had an adult's body.

Or, in other words, what on earth was he supposed to do when a Marine died in a bar?

"Don't worry, I saw my dad get drunk plenty of times," Tony had assured him.

That had answered that question although not in the way Tony had intended.

He _had_ thought to be concerned about Tony working with other agents, but he'd thought about it in the context of them finding out the truth.

He had not thought about the possibility that Agent Vivian Blackadder might start flirting with Tony.

_At_ Tony might be the better term. Although Tony could quote who knew how many lines from old black and white romantic movies, he was utterly (thankfully) oblivious to anything involving himself.

Gibbs had gotten her transferred anyway. If she'd known, she would have thanked him.

In hindsight, some of those issues probably should have occurred to him before he got into this.

One issue he hadn't imagined running into was food.

Specifically, Tony's insistence that he didn't need any in a misguided attempt to prove that his upkeep wouldn't cost Gibbs anything.

His eyes, however, had said very plainly that he wanted it quite a bit, so Gibbs had turned on the grill and wouldn't take no for an answer when he asked him how he wanted his steak done. Rare, as it turned out. Gibbs wasn't sure if that was a ghost thing or a Tony thing, but he didn't worry about it.

When Kate arrived, Gibbs figured that he was ready this time. He'd take Kelly's old room and let Kate have his, he'd make sure she was prepared for her first paycheck, he'd take care of any seedy locations they had to go to, and with Tony as her sole teammate other than Gibbs, flirting wouldn't be much of an issue unless you counted pigtail pulling. Simple. He doubted Kate would have the same issue with food Tony'd had, but if she did, he'd give her the same answer. Food was not a luxury in this household.

Three steaks had come off the grill in celebration of Kate's arrival and commemoration of those they'd lost. Medium well done for himself, medium rare for the two of them.

Tony dug in enthusiastically. Kate picked at hers.

Gibbs knew all too well how little appetite you could have when you were grieving, so he was prepared to cut her some slack. Tony, however, frowned at her.

"Don't you like it?"

"I don't think it got quite done," Kate said apologetically. "It's still red in the middle."

Tony gaped at her. "But that's the best part! You don't want it all tough, do you?"

"If it's red, we could get food poisoning."

Tony's eyes widened even more. "We're dead! We can't get food poisoning!"

"There are documented instances of spirits regurgitating food," Kate said primly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, on _The Sixth Sense_ , maybe. Not in real life."

If they'd been at work, Gibbs would have raised an eyebrow and said, "You done?" As it was, Gibbs quietly stole Kate's plate back and went to cook the steak some more. They sounded like they'd be at it for a while.


	5. Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If McGee had died as a kid, someone else would have gotten his job and been there to help the team in the cases McGee originally got involved in.
> 
> That person probably wouldn't have been willing to hack the CIA for them, though, so . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McGee, at long last.

"Come on, McGeek. It's just _one_ little database." Tony leaned his chair back and grinned like the expression could reach through the telephone and charm whoever was on the other side. "You telling me you can't do it?"

He paused for a moment. "Well, yeah, I know it's the CIA's. You scared? Maybe I should start calling you McChicken." The grin grew. "A favor, huh? Yeah, I can do that. Say, Friday? Assuming the case is done, of course. Maybe an hour later than that. Uh-huh. Call me when you're done, McGenius." He clicked the cell phone shut and spun his chair around towards Kate in triumph. "We'll have the info Gibbs wanted in ten minutes."

Kate was gaping at him. "Did you just hack into the CIA?"

"'Course not. I got an old friend to do it for me."

"You're a federal agent! You can't just - "

Tony spread his hands. "Hey, it's not my fault the spooks aren't cooperating. It's for the greater good, Katydid."

Kate balled up a piece of paper with deliberate slowness. "If you refer to me as a bug one more time - "

"Oh, come on, it's a sign of affection!" He paused. "Katydid."

Kate threw the paper wad at him. He ducked with an exaggerated yelp.

That seemed as good a time as any to interrupt, so Gibbs stopped waiting around the corner for them to get done and strolled in, coffee in hand. "Talk to me."

Both agents straightened up immediately, professional masks dropping into place like he'd just yelled action on a movie set.

"Wharton's financial records aren't showing any oddities. Whatever the CIA had him doing, this was the first time he got paid for it," Kate said, handing him a file. He flipped through it quickly.

"Or he's being really sneaky about hiding the cash," Tony pointed out. "We should know exactly what he did to earn that marked cash in a few minutes, Boss. I've got a contact working it."

Gibbs looked up. "Contact got a name?"

Tony leaned his head to the side. "So many answers to that question. I've always been partial to "McGeek" or "McGoo", myself, but there's also "McChicken", "McGenius", "McGyver", "McMole" . . . "

"What about the one his parents gave him?"

Tony winced. "I try not to bring up the parents around him, actually. He's sensitive. Like those plants that wither if you say mean things to them."

"DiNozzo!" he barked.

"Right, Boss. Um, he doesn't like to give out his name, which makes sense, considering his line of work. All I know is that that his last name starts with "Mc". I'm hoping if I come up with enough nicknames he'll give up and tell me what the rest of it is."

"At which point you'll stop referring to him as "McGeek"?" Kate asked skeptically.

"No, but I might have more blackmail material. Oh, hey, he sent the files! Operation Paper Chain." He scrolled through the information quickly. "That's a real thing?"

"Care to share with the rest of the class, Tony?"

"Sorry, Boss. Looks like we're not the only ones bending a few rules. CIA's working with Mossad."

Kate frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all Katy-Kate. Except that the division we're working with is the legendary - I have no idea how to pronounce that. It's their ghost division."

"As in, a group of people who are so well trained and off the grid that they might as well be ghosts or as in actual ghosts?"

"As in, if one of them's got it out for you, head to the nearest salt factory." Tony tilted his head. "Is that an actual thing? Are there salt factories?"

Gibbs ignored him. "That could cause some considerable controversy on both sides of the water. The Israelis don't like our refusal to recognize ghosts' rights."

Tony was still scanning through it. "The activists groups might not like it either, Boss. Look at this."

Gibbs walked over and glanced at the computer screen. A snapshot of a translucent little girl with wild hair holding a gun filled the center of the screen. There was little doubt she knew how to use it. Her eyes were bright red.

"Kids," Gibbs said quietly.

Tony glanced up quickly. "Not that I'm against dead people of debatable ages being allowed into dangerous fields, Boss, but some of these training methods seem a bit extreme. Some of the stuff this is hinting at . . . "

"They're using kids as assassins?" Kate asked, horrified.

"Fixers of unusual problems," Tony corrected. "Officially. From the sound of it, our dead officer was supposed to serve as a liaison with them for a particular project and come back with an opinion on whether or not it would be feasible here. We could have answered that one for him and saved him the trouble."

Gibbs resisted the urge to smack the back of DiNozzo's head. "Last I checked, you and Kate weren't assassins. Anything in there that suggests who might have shot him?"

"Says here there was a Senior Chief Petty Officer that was read into the project due to some rather specialized skills. She started voicing some objections a few weeks back."

Gibbs headed for his desk to grab his gear. "Address?"

"On it, Boss."

"Kate, with me. Tony, see what else your hacker buddy can turn up." He paused. "Good work, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned and threw a paper wad at Kate as Gibbs led the way to the elevator.

Gibbs snatched it out of the air and threw it right back.

 

The case was solved by Friday, for a given value of solved. They'd caught the killer. The underlying issues, however, remained stubbornly unresolved, and Morrow refused to talk to him about it.

He needed to ask Fornell to do some digging. Maybe together they could turn something up.

Tonight, though, was steak night which Tony usually managed to also turn into movie night. Tony loved steak night.

Which was why when he returned from the kitchen with another glass of water and saw only Kate sitting at the table, he knew instantly something was up.

He set the glass down. "Where's Tony?"

Kate blinked up at him innocently. "Bathroom."

If they were normal kids, maybe. As it was, "Try again," he suggested.

"I didn't say he was _using_ the bathroom, I just said that was where he went," Kate said. "I don't know why he does half the things he does. You'll have to ask him when he gets back."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "And whatever he's doing required his steak?"

"He ate it already."

He leaned down to look at her. "You really sure you want to pick now to start lying to me?"

Kate's eyes darted to one side. "He just . . . needs a minute. He'll be right back."

"Uh-huh. Back from where?"

She fiddled with her napkin.

"Kate!"

"He told me not to tell you!" she burst out. "He said he didn't want to get him in trouble!"

Panic started rising in his gut for the first time. "Who, Kate? What's going on?"

"McGeek! He went to go pay him for his help! They're in the backyard."

No reason to worry, nothing wrong - Gibbs was out the door in ten seconds flat only to see Tony calmly chatting with a skinny kid in a too big shirt that was standing on the other side of the fence.

"I told you the steaks were good. Hot but practically raw in the middle. You can _taste_ the power boost. Gibbs only makes the best."

The kid was holding the steak in reverent hands. "I can't remember the last time I ate."

"Well, there you go, McHungry. I told you hacking the CIA would be totally worth it. Oh, hey, Gibbs!"

The scrawny boy jumped, nearly dropping the steak. Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "That's your contact?"

"Gibbs, meet McGeek. McGeek, meet the Boss." He waved his hand between them before turning back to Gibbs. "I met him at the hotel years ago, Boss. He's a genius with computers. McCheater here beat me at every video game we played."

McGeek - was he actually supposed to call him that? - gulped. "Tony," he hissed.

Tony backtracked quickly. "Of course, when I say years ago, I don't mean like a ton of years. McScrawny here was an itty bitty prodigy when we first met."

"How'd he die?" Gibbs asked bluntly as he walked closer.

McGeek squeaked and took off in a cloud of slightly transparent dust.

"Calm down, McChicken, he's not gonna salt you!" Tony yelled after him.

The kid was long gone.

Tony sighed and peered over the fence. "At least he didn't drop the steak." He peeked at Gibbs. "You're mad, aren't you?"

"Ya think, DiNozzo?"

"In my defense, he's not dangerous."

"I don't care about him, Tony, I care about you and Kate lying to me!"

"Oh. Huh." Tony scratched the back of his neck. "Is this an "exception to rule six" kind of situation?"

If he hadn't looked so honestly bewildered, Gibbs would have yelled at him.

Instead, he just growled, "It's a _don't ever do it again_ situation. Just tell me when you need something, Tony. I could have made an extra steak."

"Yeah, but . . . "

"I'm not going to salt someone unless I have to, Tony."

He wished the nod Tony gave him hadn't come after quite so long a pause.

 

"No, I'm not tracing the call, McParanoid." Tony rolled his eyes. "Despite what you seem to believe, the government does have better things to do than hunt down one mostly benevolent hacker. So do I, for that matter, so if you want more food, get to the point already." Tony rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, I know you could always go somewhere else, but unless you're ready to start stealing, that leaves trash cans. Trust me, I don't recommend it. Yeah, about that . . . Listen, I'm not sure about getting you another steak. Gibbs got all weird about the last one. I've got something better for you. A ghost like you, you're getting thinner every day. You need power. You need energy. You need Caff-POW."

Kate raised her eyebrows at him. He ignored her.

"Our lab tech swears by it. Her nickname's "Abby the energizer bunny". Trust me. This is the real deal, and you can have some for the low, low price of one tiny unauthorized search of FBI databases." Tony lowered his voice. "Get it to me in ten minutes, and I'll make it an extra large. Abby didn't sleep for days." He clicked the phone shut and looked up, grinning.

"Really, Tony?"

"Okay, so I exaggerated a bit. A teensy, weensy, bit. Honestly, though, I think Abbs has got more caffeine than blood in her veins, so it doesn't count. She's used to it."

"Used to what?" Gibbs asked, strolling in.

"Nothing, Boss. Should have those search results for you in a few minutes."

"Uh-huh." Gibbs sipped his coffee. "This from the same source as last time?"

Tony's email dinged as the results came in. "Yep. We owe him an extra large Caff-POW."

"Not food?" Gibbs asked mildly.

Tony shrugged. "It's all just energy to us, Boss. And Caff-POW . . . " He shuddered. "Well, it might kick like a hot pepper, but it's the best energy boost you could ask for short of blood."

"One of these days, the director's going to be walking by when you say something like that," Kate warned him.

Tony shrugged. "He already thinks I'm crazy. Anyway, Boss, point is, I'll just call a cab and drop one off for him after work."

Gibbs gave a noncommittal grunt and told him to put the results up on the big screen.

 

Five hours later, they were shoving the bewildered killer into the car while he babbled questions about how, exactly, Kate had come up behind him when there hadn't been any doors in that wall and how Tony had woken up from that hit on the head. Gibbs glared at him for that last one and slammed the door shut.

"Looks like your hacker's information panned out," he told Tony.

"Told you he was good, Boss."

"Surprised you aren't trying to convince me to have him over for supper." Actually, he was surprised Tony wasn't trying to talk him into taking the kid in yet.

Kate paused outside the car door, curious.

Tony winced. "He's kind of terrified of you."

"He knows I haven't gone after you," Gibbs pointed out. "What makes him think he's different?"

Tony frowned. "Huh. Hadn't thought of that." He shrugged. "Far be it from me to try and guess what goes through McGeek's head, Boss."

"Maybe it's not the salt he's afraid of," Kate suggested. "Maybe it's something else. You could remind him of someone. Or it could be the whole Navy cop thing. He knows Tony from before, so he's different."

Kate would have been a good profiler in another life.

"Good work, both of you," he told them. "Come on. We've got two Caff-POWS to buy after we drop this guy off."

"Two, Boss?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You really think Abby'd forgive us if we didn't get her one?"

Tony winced. "Good thinking, Boss."

Gibbs got into the car. The same question haunted him all the way back to the Navy yard and then all the way home.

What was the kid so afraid of?

 

"Boss, we've got a problem."

Gibbs looked up from his desk to see Tony had already thrown his phone down and was reaching for his gear. His face was even paler than usual.

"DiNozzo?"

"McGeek's in trouble, Boss. A couple of ghost hunters have him cornered in the old Mahoney house on Dixon Street." Tony wasn't quite running out the door, but he had his gun ready to go, and his eyes were pleading for the go ahead. Kate was already moving.

Gibbs swept up his gear and headed for the stairs. They were faster than the elevator. "He know their names?" They might could give them a call and get them to back off.

"Sorry, Boss. He had to go quiet before he could tell me anything much. I don't want to risk calling him."

Gibbs just nodded and kept pounding down the stairs. The kid might not be family, yet, but he was still one of theirs.

Gibbs drove like even more of a maniac than usual. Tony's foot tapped impatiently on the floor of the car for the first ten minutes. The third time they hit a red light, he stopped tapping and instead went utterly still. Gibbs didn't have to look at him to know what look was in his eyes.

"He'll be fine, Tony," Kate said reassuringly. "I'm sure he's found somewhere to hole up."

Tony just jerked his head in something approximating a nod.

"Why him?" Gibbs asked as he decided he was done with the red light and pulled out into traffic, jerking the car to the left to avoid a passing SUV.

"Don't know," Tony said tightly. "Maybe the FBI figured out who was hacking them."

Gibbs foot pressed the gas down a little more.

The Mahoney house had belonged to a drugs dealer that had been selling to Navy Petty Officers that they'd caught a few months back. Tony must have passed the information about the empty house along to McGee.

It was big and old fashioned with plenty of hiding places to squeeze into, particularly for someone to whom things like mass were more of a guideline. For that matter, he should be able to just sneak out through the walls -

Gibbs slammed on the breaks and bit back the urge to curse like the former Marine he was.

Two big black vans were parked outside. Unlike many cheaper ghost hunters, they didn't have something bright and cheesy painted on the side. Instead, a small card in their back window proclaimed their occupation.

Harrison and Sons. He knew of them, though he'd never met them personally. He did, however, know that the black canisters set out in a perimeter around the house meant trouble.

"Boss?" Kate asked nervously.

Gibbs threw open the door. "They're designed to spray salt water when a ghost trips their sensors. Stay in the car."

Tony already had his door open. "Boss - "

"Stay!" he barked and ran for the door.

It was closed but unlocked. A spray of salt fell onto him when he banged it open. Ghosts might have the ability to pass through walls, but even after death it was human nature to head for the easier exits. He wiped it off his face before it could get into his eyes and drew his gun.

"NCIS! Wherever you are, come out! We need to talk!"

He was already moving even as he shouted the words. There wasn't an answer. It was a big house. Maybe they couldn't hear him.

His training suggested that it was equally possible that Tony had been wrong to trust the McGeek and that the hunters might be dead, but his gut disregarded the idea, so he did too.

"McGeek?" he called, wincing at the name. "It's Special Agent Gibbs. I'm here to help. Tony's in the car."

Still nothing.

"Harrison?"

He kept moving through the house like Mike Franks had taught him so long ago. Careful around corners, gun out. Procedure said he should have backup, but it couldn't be helped.

There were plenty of salt traps and iron shavings scattered strategically about, but nothing to suggest where the people that had laid them might be now.

He was halfway up the stairs to the next level when he saw the man in black crouching at the top, finger to his lips. Gibbs moved low and quiet, coming to a stop a few stairs below him, gun still out. "Special Agent Gibbs."

"Yeah, we heard you," the man breathed back. "Sorry, sir, but we're at a tricky stage. He can't see us, and we don't want to let him know we're still here if we can help it."

"You've got the kid cornered, then?"

"The juvenile apparition, yes, sir. He's curled himself up real tight inside of a CPU, of all things."

Gibbs snorted.

"We're probably going to spray some salt water through the vents, but we were waiting to get some info back to make sure it didn't have something important stored on it first. The new owner said it wasn't theirs, though, and it's not likely the police would have left it behind if it was important, so we were just about to go when you showed up. Do you need it, sir?"

"It's not the computer, it's what's in it," he said tightly. "I need that ghost."

The man looked startled. "Sir?"

"He's an NCIS informant," he snapped. "Couldn't have solved the last two cases without him."

"We looked for his picture in the registry, sir, he wasn't in - "

Gibbs pulled out his ID and shoved it in the man's face. "And I'm telling you different. Now are you going to make me arrest you or are you going to back off and let me go get my ghost?"

The hunter wavered for a moment before giving in and standing up. "The owner did just say that they wanted the ghost gone," he conceded. "We should still be able to wrangle the fee out of 'em."

Gibbs smile was as cold as the meat lockers down in Autopsy. "That's the important thing." He stalked into the bedroom behind the hunter.

Their ghostly hacker had obviously set himself up a little haven in here. Scavenged computers of all sorts were arranged in a semicircle around a swivel chair that looked like it came from one of those sci-fi movies Tony and Kate bickered over. Posters of movies and shows he vaguely recognized plastered the walls. Most were carefully mended or showed signs of being cleaned like the kid had salvaged them from trash cans.

Two more hunters were crouched on either side of a desk with a CPU tucked neatly under it. A thin layer of salt had been poured on top of it, and more formed a ring around the base. A spray bottle was held ready by the eldest man with the same intensity as Gibbs held his gun when facing down a suspect.

The eldest man flashed a few hand signals without looking away from the vent. When Gibbs squinted at it, he could just see a bit of blurriness that might have been caused by ghostly essence.

"Feds want the apparition, Dad."

The man still didn't look away, but his grip did loosen slightly. "Is that so?"

"Want to sit here and wait while I get a court order?" Gibbs challenged.

The man sighed and backed up. "That won't be necessary. Charles, start packing up our stuff." He finally glanced over at Gibbs. "Unless you need help with the thing, of course."

"I think I should be fine with him, thanks," Gibbs said, putting slightly more emphasis than necessary on the pronoun. "Be sure to get all your stuff. I don't want to salt him by accident when I'm taking him out."

"Sure," the third hunter said easily. "Sorry to cut in on your territory, man."

Gibbs glared. They got the hint and left.

Gibbs yanked the CPU's cord out of the wall and carefully carried it out of the ring of salt. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped down the CPU with it before tossing it in a corner.

"You can come on out now," he told the machinery softly. "Tony's out in the car. He's anxious to see you."

The blurriness shuddered slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid. The hunters are all gone too."

He paused. Nothing.

"What's your name? Tony didn't seem to know. Can't be McGeek." He sat down and leaned back against the wall. He could hear the hunters cleaning up downstairs. "You can trust me with it, you know. I know all about embarrassing names. My parents named me Leroy Jethro." He laughed softly. "Whatever it is, it can't be worse than that."

"I've got a good name." The voice was defensive.

"Oh? Why won't you tell anybody what it is, then?"

"He would've looked it up."

"Who, Tony? Probably. He likes to know things about people. It just means that he's paying attention." And to Tony, paying attention equaled caring.

A pale, scrawny, ghost slowly unfolded himself from the CPU. "Tim. Timothy McGee," he admitted. He scratched his arm nervously. "I don't know if he told you, but I've been, um, helping with things. Cases, I mean, not just general things. I'm not much good with anything besides computers."

"Yeah, he told me." Gibbs frowned. That name sounded familiar. McGee, McGee -

"You're Admiral John McGee's son," he realized. McGee flinched. "A group of ghosts went blood mad and attacked the camp you were attending. You hid three of the younger kids and ran for the woods. Drew two of 'em off." He remembered the news story now. It wasn't the kind of thing that was easy to forget.

"And then tripped over my own feet, had an asthma attack, and got myself killed," Tim said bitterly.

"You saved lives," Gibbs countered.

Tim scuffed his foot against the floor and shrugged. "I guess. My dad said it was just typical. I had a great idea, just not enough guts and muscle to pull it off."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "He said that?"

"At the funeral," Tim said glumly. "Penelope nearly slapped him."

"Your sister?"

"Grandmother. She didn't like it when we called her that."

"Hmm. Is your dad why you're sticking around? You trying to make him proud?"

"That's why I've been helping, sir," he said eagerly. "Tony told me about what he was doing now, and I thought that if I could help you solve cases, it might really impress him. And Tony said he'd found a way to make everyone see him, and he's been bringing me food, so I'm a lot stronger now. I think I'm getting there, sir."

"None of your family can see ghosts?"

He shook his head despondently. "No, sir."

It sounded like the hunters had finished up. Tony and Kate must be going just about crazy out there. "Well, come on, then."

"Sir?"

"Don't call me 'sir'," he corrected. "It's Gibbs. And if we're going to get home in time to have more than takeout for supper, we need to get back to the Navy yard."

"Sir - Sorry, Gibbs. I meant Gibbs. I'm coming with you?"

"Well, you can't stay here. Come on, kid. Let's go tell Tony he can stop calling you McGeek."

Tim hurried after him. "Do you think he really will?" he asked eagerly.

On second thought, that might be a bit optimistic.

He led the way outside to make sure the canisters were gone. Sure enough, they were, but the trucks were still there. Tony and Kate, in an act of either supreme bravery or supreme stupidity, had rolled down their windows and called the hunters over to interrogate them about what was going on inside.

Fatherly pride warred with fatherly concern. As usual, exasperation won out.

"Agent Todd! Agent DiNozzo! What do you think you're doing?"

Tony jumped in his seat guiltily and shifted to shield Kate a little bit behind him. "Just talking to Will here, Boss. Oh, hey, McGoo!"

"That's not my name," Tim muttered under his breath.

"What was that, McGeek?"

"Nothing, Tony." Tim shot a nervous look at the hunters and scurried into the car without actually bothering to open the door.

"Windows. Now," Gibbs ordered his two agents.

He got the sense that Kate only just managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes as she rolled her window up and turned to Tim.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said meekly. "Bye, Will! Bye, Charles!" He waved at them cheerily and rolled his window up.

"Nice guy," Charles commented.

"Real nice," Gibbs said dryly.

Will frowned. "Something about him, though. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"He's annoying," Gibbs said sharply to cover the pounding in his chest. "That's all you need to know." He got in the car and slammed the door behind him. He didn't bother with his seat belt before hitting the gas.

"You got McHacker," Tony said cheerfully. "Well done, Boss."

Gibbs was not in the mood for cheerful. "Whose idiot idea was it for two ghostly agents to go chat up a couple of hunters?" Gibbs growled.

Tony wilted a little. "That'd be me, Boss. In my defense though, it was only an idea. Kate was the one who dared me to actually go through with it."

"Do you have a death wish?" Gibbs demanded.

"Funny you should phrase it that way, Boss, because - " Tony got a good look at Gibbs' face and stopped talking.

"Sorry, Gibbs," Kate said sincerely. "We just wanted to be sure everything was all right." She paused. "And in our defense, we did stay in the car."

Wonderful. Tony was rubbing off on her. How long before meek little McGee started juggling salt packets while dancing on iron spikes?

He needed coffee. Lots of coffee.

He also needed a team that wasn't completely insane, but considering it also needed to be a team that would agree to work with him, he'd have to settle for coffee.

 

Gibbs hadn't exactly planned on making McGee's stay permanent, but he'd known better to really plan otherwise. Tim was handy with gadgets, and they could use someone with his expertise, but there was the obstacle of him being a bit too see through and a bit too young looking.

Then he walked into Abby's lab to find a small mountain of empty Caff-POWs and a very wired, very middle aged McGee. Abby was messing with her aging software. "Here, try twenty-nine." McGee shifted his face to look like the picture.

Abby glanced up. "Oh, hey, Gibbs!" She bounded over to him, black pigtails swinging. "We've been experimenting!"

Gibbs looked over at the now twenty-nine McGee. "I can see that, Abbs."

Tim gulped. "Sorry. I know we shouldn't be doing this now, it's just that Abby had this idea and - "

"If we feed him a steady stream of Caff-POW he should be able to keep in shape long enough to get into the field!" Abby enthused. "Then he can shoot a bad guy and it won't be a problem anymore." She took a long slurp of her own Caff-POW. "They should really advertise this in their commercials, you know. 'Powerful enough to sustain ghostly life -'"

"Abbs," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Good job. Hold off on the jingles, though, all right?"

"Whatever you say, Gibbs. Ooh! Do you think I can charge all these to NCIS since they were for recruitment purposes?"

"Got to get him in first, Abbs. Set up the documents and give me a call, all right?"

"On it, fearless leader! Come on, McGee! Where do you want to have gone to college? Stanford? MIT?"

Gibbs smiled as the door closed behind him.

 

Of all the reactions he had expected to Abby excitedly announcing the news to the rest of the team, Tony throwing on the fake grin Gibbs hated hadn't been one of them. Kate was warm in her congratulations, Ducky was smiling as he shook Tim's hand, but Tony . . . .

He was saying the right things, but the look in his eyes was anything but, and his jibes were just a bit sharper than usual.

He grabbed him by the elbow and said quietly, "DiNozzo. My office. Now."

He punched a random floor number when they got in the elevator and flipped the emergency stop button.

"You know, Boss, it took me the longest time to figure out why you did that when I first got here."

"Tony."

"Shutting up, Boss."

He gave him a long look. "What's the problem?"

"Problem, Boss?"

"I thought you'd be happy."

"'Course I am, Boss. Ecstatic. We've kind of run out of bedrooms, of course, but it's not like we actually need to sleep, so I'm sure we can work something out."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is about? Sharing a bedroom?"

Tony scoffed. "That'd be childish."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Tony, but they call you 'juvenile apparitions' for a reason."

"Yeah, so they don't have to think about torturing kids. It's fine, Boss. McGee'll be good for the team. He's sure a lot better with computers than I'll ever be. It'll be good to have him on hand."

Talk about space, the computers . . . He thought he saw where this was going.

"I ever tell you about Kelly, DiNozzo?" He kept his eyes carefully locked on the elevator doors. He kept his voice steady through sheer effort of will. "Her picture's down in the basement. Got another one in my bedroom."

"I've seen it," Tony said carefully. "You never talk about her, though."

"I had her with my first wife. Shannon." He swallowed hard. "I was deployed when they were murdered."

He couldn't see Tony's face, but he could hear the horror in his voice when he said, "I'm so sorry, Boss."

"They didn't stick around. Not even to say goodbye."

"Maybe they knew you'd never be ready to say it," Tony offered.

"Maybe," Gibbs allowed. "I've never stopped missing them. Never." He sighed. "You reminded me of her when we first met. She would have liked you. She was so bright and cheerful. Always asking questions."

"I would have liked to have met her, Boss," Tony said quietly.

Gibbs forced himself to focus. This wasn't about him. Not right now. "I didn't take you with me when I left that hotel because I was trying to replace her, DiNozzo. She's not replaceable." He forced himself to turn and look at Tony before he could get the wrong idea. "None of you are. Not her. Not Kate. Not McGee. Not you."

"Boss?"

That was the boy's voice, not the agent's.

"I'm not your father, Tony. I'm not going to drop you just because someone new comes along. Yeah, McGee's good with computers. You call him McGeek for a reason. But I've never seen you beat in interrogation, and you can charm the witnesses like no one else. And even if that wasn't true, even if there was some perfect agent out there who could do all that and more, you're still not replaceable, DiNozzo. You got that?"

The look in Tony's eyes would have melted a heart a lot harder than Gibbs's. He sighed. "Come here, kid."

He held him tightly for a long moment, feeling the shudders in his essence as he resisted the urge to revert to his true self. He ruffled Tony's hair lightly and closed his eyes to preserve the memory of that awestruck happiness in Tony's eyes.

No kid should be that surprised to learn he was loved, but at least now he knew. At least he'd had a chance to find out.

It didn't occur to him until later that night, after he'd tucked not two, but three, kids in, that he hadn't actually said that he'd loved him out loud. He could do it now, he supposed. He'd told Kelly every night as he'd tucked her in.

But then he remembered the trembles in Tony's essence earlier and he thought of why, exactly, Tony had hung around. He'd wanted to be loved.

If he said it, would Tony just disappear?

It was a ridiculous thought, and he dismissed it out of hand.

He turned the light off without saying it though and cursed himself as a selfish coward until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where it's due, "Abby the energizer bunny" is from a season three episode. I don't remember which one.
> 
> Okay, before you all start throwing rotten tomatoes at me, consider this. Gibbs is always at his worst when someone threatens his team. When it's a physical threat, he gets protective and antagonistic. When someone tries to take over, like Jenny sort of did at first, he lashes out and gets possessive, and he isn't always fair in the process ("And my loyal St. Bernard held out until last . . . All of what, five seconds?"). I can see Gibbs, who already has trouble with words, being afraid enough of losing his new family that he might try to rationalize doing whatever it takes to get them to stick around. That said, the story's far from over, so don't give up hope.


	6. Fear Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they're dead doesn't mean the worst has already happened.

"I'm not scared. I'm just saying that we shouldn't go without Gibbs' permission." Kate kept her voice firm and glared at Tony like her hands wouldn't be shaking if they weren't clenched into fists.

"It's one measly little neighborhood barbecue, Katydid. Everyone's going. What could be the harm in that?" Tony leaned back against the wall of the living room, eyebrows raised in his best impression of Gibbs. Tim stood nervously off to one side, eyes flicking between them.

Kate clenched her fists even tighter. "Someone could figure out we're dead, Tony. And don't call me Katydid. I saw a picture of one. It was gross."

Tim interjected, even if it was timidly. "We could call Gibbs and ask him if we could go."

"No," Kate and Tony said at the same time. Kate rolled her eyes and turned to Tim. "This is the first time he's been on guard duty for the director since you've been here, isn't it?" He nodded. "We're only supposed to call him if it's an emergency."

"Like 'there's a mob outside the door that rivals the one from Frankenstein' emergency," Tony said. "Which this isn't. This is a, 'Help, Kate's being a goody-two shoes' emergency, and if we called him every time that happened, his phone'd never stop ringing."

"Says the guy who trips over himself every time Gibbs needs something done," Kate scoffed.

She knew it was over the line as soon as she said it, but she tightened her jaw and didn't take it back. He knew why she didn't want to go. There was no way he could have missed it.

On second thought, maybe he had. He never seemed bothered when a victim was found in a hotel, and he'd seemed legitimately confused about why everyone kept looking at him last week when Ducky said the victim had died due to a poison that had raised their temperature dangerously high. Maybe he really didn't know why she wouldn't want to go to a barbecue at a place that had a pool.

Tony, as if he were reading her mind, snapped his fingers. "That's it! Hydrophobia! You're afraid of water, aren't you?"

"I wasn't afraid of it two weeks ago when I creamed you in the water gun fight," she snapped at him.

"When we creamed Gibbs at the water gun fight," he corrected.

She relaxed a little and allowed herself to smile at the memory. Maybe Tony would let this go after all. "When we creamed Gibbs," she agreed.

Tony considered this for a minute and then shook his head. "I still say you're scared."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!

"Are too!"

"Am NOT!"

"Prove it then!"

"I will!" Kate yelled. If she'd still required air, she would have been panting. As it was, the words fell crisp, loud, and triumphant between them.

Then she saw Tony's smirk and knew she'd been had.

It was done now, though, so she stormed past Tim to go to her room and shift her clothes into a swimsuit.

The stupid thing kept wanting to be blue, but she wasn't wearing that again, not in a million years, so she made it eye burningly pink and, in a fit of pique, added ruffles. She stalked past Tony and Tim, both already in swim trunks, with her head held as high as a queen's.

They slipped unnoticed into the barbecue. Adults chatted around folding tables that looked ready to collapse from the weight of the food, and kids ran shrieking between them as they chased each other in and out of the pool.

Kate shrugged off Tim's offer to go get a Popsicle with her and went to go stand in the shade of the porch, as far away from the edge of the pool as she could get.

Predictably, it wasn't long until Tony found her. He was holding two cups of lemonade. She took one with all the silent dignity she could muster. Unfortunately, it didn't feel like much. The pink had definitely been a mistake.

"I'd stay away from the food," Tony said by way of peace offering. "I think salt from the potato chips has gotten on just about everything."

"Even the desserts?"

"There's salt in chocolate, remember?"

She drained her lemonade with a scowl. "I miss chocolate."

"I miss pizza," Tony commiserated. "Tim misses being able to play those video games where you're a ghost hunter."

"What's stopping him?"

Tony winced. "You didn't see the look Gibbs gave him?"

Kate considered that. "I thought it was just because we were at work."

"Nah, he's got a completely different look for that."

"You would know."

"Speaking of the many and wonderful things I know, I know that not only am I inescapably faster than you on land, as I've proven in every race you've challenged me to, I'm also faster than you in the water. Tim just clocked me."

She scowled at him. "That only proves something if you've got a time to compare it to, genius."

He looked at her expectantly.

"No."

"So you admit that I'm faster than you?"

"I admit that you're a jerk," she growled. "A slow one." Gritting her teeth for a moment, she took off running for the pool, yelling, "Last one to the end has to do all the paperwork for a week!"

She jumped into the water before she could second-guess herself.

It felt good. Cool, but not as shockingly cold as she remembered. The chlorine tingled in a way it hadn't before, but being able to sink through the water without her lungs even beginning to protest more than made up for it.

The bottom, though, was dangerously close.

Tony hit the water in a spray of bubbles behind her, and she took off through the water. Thinking and beating Tony were mutually exclusive goals at the moment.

She darted around other brightly colored bodies, motions from a lifetime ago coming back easily. She burst to the surface of the water at the shallow end triumphantly and turned to face Tony, who was still a full body length behind.

"You know, if anyone heard that battle cry about paperwork, we're going to have some explaining to do."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He grinned and shoved his arms forward, creating a wave that splashed over her. She shrieked and splashed him back.

"McGeek, get in here! I need backup!" Tony hollered.

Twenty minutes later, she floated on her back next to Tony.

"I won the race," she reminded him smugly. "Again. You're awful at this."

"Yep," he admitted cheerfully. "You forgiven me yet, Katydid?"

A thought slammed into her. She turned to glare at him. "You did this on purpose!"

"Did what?" he asked innocently. "Got you to have fun?"

She fumed.

"Ah, don't be like that, Katydid."

She sighed and forgave him. Mostly. But - "I lied earlier. About the nickname."

"You secretly adore it?"

"I don't think they're gross." Should she really tell him this? "My dad used to call me that."

That, Tony understood.

"You could call him, you know," he said gently. "They still love you."

Unlike Tony and Tim's family, he meant.

"They took my pictures down," she confessed. "The therapist said that the reminders were tearing the family apart. She said they needed to move on."

They hadn't heard her arguing. They hadn't heard Kate screaming at them to leave those alone, she was still here, and why wouldn't they listen -

Rachel had hidden the one of the two of them at the beach under her pillow.

Rachel was dead now, and Kate still wasn't ready to think about that.

Tony, fortunately, was talking again, and he understood enough about what she wasn't saying to have moved on. "What about Kit-Kat? Anybody ever call you that?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Kit-Kat?"

"Yeah. You're sweet, you snap, and you're inedible."

She started giggling at the sheer absurdity of it. She might have kept at it, somewhat hysterically, for minutes, if a shadow hadn't fallen across the pool with more force than shadows usually managed.

Tony gulped. Kate knew what that meant.

She turned around and smiled as brightly as she could. "Hi, Gibbs! You're home early."

He did not look happy.

Apparently, the director had gotten sick and gone home from the gala early which consequently allowed Gibbs to do the same.

That was all Gibbs said, and he managed it in quite a few less words than that. He didn't even have to tell them to come home. They just got up and followed him, heads hanging, like three wet and contrite ducklings.

By the time they were all standing in the living room again, Tim looked like he was on the verge of running and hiding between the walls, and it had been ten minutes since anyone had said anything, so she wasn't really surprised when Tony felt the need to break the silence.

"I know it was a bad idea, Boss, and we shouldn't have gone, but it was my idea and I bullied them into it, so it really isn't fair to be mad at them for it. Particularly Kate. Although," he rallied, "she is over her fear of pools now, so I think that should count for something."

Gibbs just looked at him.

Tony wilted.

Tim just looked like he was waiting for someone to start yelling or throwing things, possibly at him. Tony scooted over a little so he was standing in front of him. Kate didn't really think Gibbs was going to do anything more dramatic than yell, but she scooted over in front of him too in a show of solidarity. Maybe it would make Tim feel better.

"It's not all Tony's fault. I'm the oldest, I should have stopped them."

"Between the two of us, McYoungest here never had a chance," Tony agreed smoothly.

Even in a state of disgrace, Tim couldn't let that go. "I'm _two months_ younger than you, Tony."

Kate elbowed him sharply at the same time that Tony leaned back to step on his foot. It couldn't have hurt, but their newest sibling got the message and shut up.

Gibbs was giving them a look again, except this time it was one she was more accustomed to seeing directed at Tony or Tim, not all of them as a collective. It was a confusing mix of exasperation, fury, and concern that she had theorized basically meant boiled down to, "I was going to yell at you, but now I think I'd rather go hunt down whoever thought doing this to you was in any way a good idea," in Gibbs speak.

"Any particular reason you're hiding Tim behind you?"

"I told you, Boss. He wilts if you're mean to him."

"Not going to throw anything," he said mildly, crouching down to their eye level. "Just wanted to be sure you remembered why getting friendly with the neighbors might be a bad idea."

Tony had already thought of that, apparently. "Because they could find out we're dead and report it, and the government would come and salt us, and you'd lose your job?"

Tim mustered his courage. "We were careful."

"We won't do it again," Kate amended.

"Without your permission," Tony tacked on.

"Why'd you do it this time?"

They looked at each other.

"Because according to Ducky, our brains haven't fully developed yet?" Tony tried.

"They're as developed as they're going to get, so it had better be good enough," Gibbs said firmly. "Think next time. Think now."

"Yes, Boss," they chorused.

Tony and Tim headed silently toward their room. Kate moved to do the same, but Gibbs stopped her.

"You okay?"

So he had noticed her problem with pools. She shrugged, embarrassed. "It was fun. I beat Tony in two races."

Gibbs' face tightened strangely. "Did you." It wasn't a question.

"In the pool," she clarified. "I still can't outrun him."

Gibbs' expression eased and he almost smiled. "You've got time," he reminded her.

She nodded and headed towards her bedroom. She hesitated at the doorway to the stairs. "Gibbs? You're not too mad, are you?"

Gibbs' face softened even more. "None of you got hurt."

A rush of relief went over her. "So you're still going to tuck us in?" she asked, trying to make it sound like she was just casually checking.

The ghost of a smile twitched on his face. "Of course I am." He paused. "Kit-Kat."

She considered for just a moment before saying in a rush, "You can call me Katydid. If you want." She darted up the stairs before he could answer.

Gibbs came to her room last that night, armed with facts after a long conversation with the boys. She lay as quiet and still as she would have had she been asleep as he tucked the blanket in around her.

He brushed the hair out of her face and then turned off the lamp and whispered, "Night, Katydid."

 

Tony drummed his fingers on the windowsill of the hotel lobby's window. "What's taking him so long?"

Kate shrugged. "Maybe Ducky got caught up in a story and he didn't want to be rude."

"Gibbs," Tony said flatly.

"Okay, so it isn't likely. Just calm down, Tony. I'm sure he'll bring the evidence van around soon." She picked at the edge of her jacket. She still hadn't gotten used to shifting herself into this form. She always felt like she was playing dress up with her mother's clothes.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have just carried the couch out there."

"Because it's pouring rain, and it might have messed with the blood on the cushions?" Tim suggested.

"Shut up and drink your Caff-Pow, McProbie. No one asked you."

"Actually, Tony - "

Tony's answering glare had Tim instantly hunching over his cup.

"What's gotten into you?" Kate demanded.

"Nothing," Tony said defensively. He went to peer out the window again. "I still don't see him."

She narrowed her eyes at him as a thought occurred to her. "You know, Tony, hotels, much like pools, can be fun." Maybe she'd been wrong about them not bothering him.

Tony didn't even seem to be listening to her. He was examining his watch instead. "It's been ten minutes. It shouldn't be taking this long." He looked up. "Maybe he ran into trouble. I'm going to go check on him."

Kate prayed for patience. "Tony. It's Gibbs. He's fine."

"Well, if you know so much Little Miss - "

Tim, ever eager to avoid conflict, jumped up. "He's here!"

They both turned to look at him. "What?"

Tim gestured toward the window. "He's, uh, pulling up now. With the van."

"Yeah, we got that, McGeek." Tony walked back over to the window. "Huh. Good eyes, Tim." He slapped him on the back. "Now come help me with this couch. It's not going to carry itself."

"Oh, right." He scurried to get around to the other side.

"Go get the door to the van, Kit-Kat?" Tony panted.

"Your itty bitty muscles burning?" She smirked at him as she walked past.

"Can your string your ectoplasm?" Tim asked. He was looking pretty strained himself.

"Say that a little louder, Tim, I think the guy in the corner over there didn't hear you."

Kate grinned at their bickering and went to get the door to the van. Once it was open, she scrambled back out so that she could claim dibs on the front seat while the boys loaded up the back.

Gibbs glanced at her as she climbed in. "The boys need any help?"

"Tim might need more Caff-POW. What took you so long? Tony was half convinced the killer'd come back and done you in."

"Stupid car pulled out right behind me and didn't move for five minutes."

"Ah." She could hear the boys still bickering as they maneuvered the couch into the back of the van. "Don't we normally have people that come get this kind of thing?"

"The director's breathing down my neck on this one." Gibbs frowned. "It's not like Morrow. I want it done with before he gets it into his head to start making trips down to the bullpen."

Considering what Tony and Tim's idea of keeping their nature a secret was, that was probably wise.

"Tony says he's fine, by the way." She shot a pointed look at the hotel sign and then at Gibbs.

"He always says that," Gibbs grumbled. "Nobody's ever that fine."

Kate knew better than to try and make any more conversation as the boys finally got the couch situated and they headed back to the Navy Yard.

Gibbs stayed down in Evidence to hover over Abby while she got to work. The rest of the team hurried to the elevator so that they could get to the bullpen and get started on their separate assignments.

Kate waited until Tim had exited the elevator and then hit the button to close the doors and flicked the emergency stop switch. Tony was too startled to stop her.

"That's Gibbs' trick."

"I'm borrowing it." She bit her lip and then huffed out a sigh. "Look, Tony, your trick with the pool could have turned out really badly."

Tony shot her a furtive, guilty look. "Yeah. I got that lecture from Gibbs already. You're not still mad about that, are you?" He probably meant the words to sound flippant, but they came out a little anxious instead.

"It turned out okay." She unbent a little more. "It was fun. And I think you put a bit more thought into it than you let on."

"Maybe. So why bring it up now?" He leaned against the elevator wall.

She gave him a knowing look. "I just thought, maybe, after all that, you wouldn't want to admit that you're scared too. I just wanted to tell you that it's okay. It's perfectly natural to have residual fear in a place that reminds you of dying."

"Residual fear? My, we are getting fancy, aren't we, Kate."

"Tony."

"Kate." He tried for a wide grin. "Come on. Did I look scared at the crime scene today?"

"You did in the lobby," she said. Her eyes widened. "The lobby. You weren't scared because it was a hotel. You were scared because Gibbs left you a hotel."

"Kate," he warned. "Drop this. Now."

"That's it, isn't it?" Kate said, getting excited now at the thrill of finally figuring the puzzle out. " You volunteered to be the one to go get the van. You tried to get the keys, but Gibbs got there first. It's not the place at all, it's - abandonment. That's it." She glanced up, and her smile immediately dropped when she saw the sick look on his face. "Tony, I'm sorry, I didn't think - "

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Dad didn't either, I'll bet." He shrugged. "To be fair, I try not to think either. It all balances out. Hey, do you think I should do something for probie to make up for earlier?" He reached for the switch.

Kate stepped between him and the control board. "We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what? Getting me a nightlight to scare the big, bad monsters away?" His voice took on a mocking edge. "Come on, Kate. It's fine."

"You helped me," she said stubbornly.

He leaned back again with a sigh. "So, what? You're going to show me how my fears are unfounded and how abandonment can, under the right circumstances, really be a lot of fun? You gonna stay and bicker with me until I get through it? 'Cause I gotta tell you, Kate, that sounds like a great idea - Except for the fact that, by nature of the fear, I've gotta be alone or it doesn't count."

She hugged him.

She hadn't really done it before, not unless you counted pinning him to the ground so she could smash a water balloon in his face. She certainly hadn't done it when they were stretched into grown-up shapes and playing their roles like there was a chance of an Oscar at the end of it.

He stiffened almost immediately. "Er, Kate? Kate?" He patted her back awkwardly. "Um." He was starting to sound a little panicky. "Kate?"

She squeezed him tighter.

"Oh, I get it. You're not going to let me go. Thanks, Kit-Kat. I appreciate the sentiment. I feel much better now in fact, so why don't we just - "

"Shut up and let me hug, you idiot."

"Or we could do that." He patted her back again. "There, there?"

She reached up and swatted the back of his head. "It's traditional to hug the person back."

"Oh. Right." He reached up and put his arms around her gingerly. "Didn't we have a class about not doing this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you feeling harassed, Special Agent DiNozzo?"

She half expected him to stay 'yes' just to get her to let him go, but instead his arms tightened a little bit around her as if to automatically reassure her. "Gibbs sure was," he mused thoughtfully. "I've never seen probie ask so many questions before."

She finally let go and stepped back, but she stayed between him and the door. "He asked because you put him up to it."

"I did not!"

"You paid him ten dollars, Tony."

A pleased grin spread across his face. "Oh, yeah, I did do that, didn't I? I'd forgotten." A panicked look crossed his face. "Don't tell Gibbs."

It would have been easy to follow that rabbit trail, and it would have been fun. She could hold it over his head for days before Gibbs inevitably revealed that he'd known all along.

It would be fun.

It wouldn't, however, accomplish what she'd set out to do. Adopting the tone her mother had always used with her for serious discussions, she said, "Tony, we're not going to leave you."

"And if the director notices those excellent interrogation skills and promotes you, Special Agent Todd?"

She blinked. She hadn't even thought of that. "I'd turn it down."

"Really," Tony said flatly.

"Do you really think I'd just take off and leave all of you behind?" Kate demanded. Seeing the look on his face, she sighed and translated it to terms he might be ready to accept. "Do you really think I'd want to work for anyone besides Gibbs?"

Tony's face cleared instantly. "Of course not. But we're in a dangerous line of work. One pinch of salt is all it takes."

"I think we're a little more stubborn than that," Kate scoffed.

"Okay, two pinches. Point stands."

Kate amended her original statement. "For anything short of salt, then. We'll stick together." She reached over and flipped the switch. The doors slid open.

"Thanks," Tony said quietly.

She wasn't dumb enough to think the problem had been solved, but at least it was a start.

"I'm still nervous around pools, you know," she offered as they walked into the bullpen where a nervous and slightly hurt Tim was waiting for them.

Tony grinned, mask firmly back in place now that there was an audience. "Of course you are, Kit-Kat. You're scared I'm going to beat you in a race." He flung himself into his chair and let it make two rotations before pulling to a stop and getting to work.

Kate just rolled her eyes at him and got to work. Tony would keep insisting he was fine, and he'd keep making sure he was never the last one in the car too.

If he thought he had a monopoly on stubborn in this bullpen though, he was dead wrong.

Two days later, Kate got to her desk to discover a salt free chocolate bar sitting on her desk. Tim held up one of his own.

Both turned to Tony. He studiously didn't look up from his files. "Hey, Boss, I think I found something."

Kate grinned at Tim and got back to work.

 

To be fair, chaining Tony to the serial killer in the hopes that he would lead them to where the art was hidden had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Tony could slip the cuffs any time he needed to if things got bad; Tony was a skilled undercover operator. And, if worst came to worst and White tried to slice Tony's neck open, Tony wouldn't be the one in for a nasty surprise.

They couldn't have known something would happen to the transmitter. They certainly couldn't have known that Abby would discover, not an hour after the transmitter went off, that White's father had been a ghost hunter and that there were some definite indications that White had picked up a few tricks of the trade.

Tim should have known that Tony being in the field and Kate and Gibbs providing him backup would leave him to explain things to the powers that be, but that thought hadn't crossed his mind until he was ten seconds away from a video conference in MTAC. That wasn't nearly enough time to mentally prepare for the experience of getting yelled at by the Deputy Secretary of State. At this point, all he could do was swallow hard and hope Tony was right when he said that ghosts couldn't hyperventilate.

"Where's Agent Gibbs?" the Deputy Secretary demanded.

Okay. Breathe. This wasn't his father. He could answer. This was fine. "H-he's in the field. I'm - " He gulped at the look on his face but powered on. "I'm the agent in charge."

"Wonderful."

One day, someone would say that about him without being sarcastic. One day.

Until then, he tried to placate him. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can start by telling me whose brilliant idea it was to let the one thief we'd managed to catch go."

"It - It was very carefully planned. We should know soon where - "

"Do you know where they are now?"

He wavered. "More or less."

"More or less? What exactly does that mean Probationary Agent McGee?"

Somehow he managed to make the full title sound more derogatory than Tony's "probie" ever could.

"Special Agent DiNozzo is with him."

"You have contact, then? A visual? A transmitter?"

"The transmitter malfunctioned," he admitted miserably.

The Deputy Secretary stood slowly from his desk. "Malfunctioned," he said slowly. "Malfunctioned. Do you have any idea what's at stake here, Probationary Agent?"

"Yes, sir, I do. We're doing the best we ca- "

"So you don't have any real idea what's going on, do you? For all you know, White's killed your man and cut the cuff off by now."

Tim closed his eyes and desperately tried not to think about that, but his old trick of writing code in his head wasn't working.

He was smarter than this. He was able to say he had a degree from MIT without people blinking an eye. It wasn't true, but it could have been. Should have been. He knew better than this. White couldn't kill Tony. Tony was already dead. Conjured images of Tony with his throat slit weren't helping anything, and they weren't anything to worry about.

Of course, Tony with an iron pipe pressed against his throat or him being force fed a slow trickle of salt water was an entirely different thing.

He took a shaky breath. He was a federal agent. A probationary one, but an agent nonetheless. He could do this.

"Are you taking a nap, Agent? Look at me when I'm talking to you."

_"Look at me when I'm talking to you! Good Grief, couldn't I have had a son that could at least show me the proper respect? Bad enough that you're too glued to your computers to do anything useful, but at least you could look me in the eye when you make your excuses!"_

"Yes, sir. We're doing everything we can, sir."

"Well, I hope for your future as a federal agent that your best turns out to be a lot better than anything I've seen so far." The video cut off.

Tim stumbled back.

_"You can do better than this."_

If Tony could joke about his father, he could ignore his memories of his own.

Tony could be in trouble. He had work to do.

He hurried back to the bullpen, hands still shaking.

Two hours later, the news hadn't gotten any better. Tony was still missing. Worse, the cabin he had been at had been filled with old iron weapons hanging from the walls.

And there was an empty place on the rack where one had been taken down.

Gibbs voice was as tight as he'd ever heard it as he relayed the news. The lead agent paused only long enough to hear what scant news Tim had to give him before snapping the phone shut.

This was bad. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

He was _not_ going to be the one to tell Abby.

He got back to work on the phone records Gibbs had requested. His hands might still be shaking, but they flew across the keyboard.

Tony would be fine. Just fine. They would find him, no problem.

A tech from MTAC poked her head around the corner. "The Deputy Secretary wants to talk to you again."

Tim didn't bang his head against his desk, but it was a close call.

He followed the tech reluctantly. Gibbs needed those phone records. And what if he called again? He needed to be there, ready. They needed him to be there ready.

Maybe he should have told Gibbs that he kept getting interrupted, but with Tony missing, it just hadn't seemed that important.

"Answer the question, Agent McGee!"

His head snapped up. The blood drained from his face. The Deputy Secretary was already on the screen, and he didn't look happy.

His phone buzzed angrily in his pocket. His hand went to it automatically. Gibbs probably needed to know about the phone records -

"McGee!"

_"No son of mine - "_

His phone buzzed again.

"I have to go, sir," he blurted.

The Deputy Secretary's face was livid. "What did you just say?"

He took a shaky breath. "Agent DiNozzo has White in custody. Somewhere. But he's in trouble, and we need to find him. You're not helping."

"Now, look here - "

_"You listen to me, son. Stop stuttering and look at me! How'd I end up with a son that can't even talk right? You can do better than this. Why don't you do better than this?"_

He was breathing faster. Tony would be making fun of him if he was here. McScared, McStutter, McProbie -

His cell phone stopped buzzing for a moment before immediately starting back up again. Gibbs needed him now, and he was standing here being yelled at like the failure he was. Well done, Tim, he told himself, the sarcasm bitter even in his thoughts.

_"Well done, Tim."_

Tony had said that.

McGenius. McBrains.

"Well, Agent McGee? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He took a deep breath. Just get him off your back, you can get back to work and find Tony -

"Nothing, McGee? Are you really that useless?"

"Shut up, sir." The words were out before he could stop them. They hung in the silent room, deadly and horrible. They'd been desperate words, not intentionally insolent, but they'd been said.

He was dead. He was so dead.

But he was needed, so he drew his shoulders back and said, "Sorry, sir, but there's an agent missing and it's all hands on deck. I've got to go."

He jerked his hand across his neck. The techs jerked to cut the video feed after a startled, awkward second.

He closed his eyes for a calming second before all but running from the room. He pulled his cell phone out as he went. "Running the numbers now, Boss."

Four nerve wracking hours later, Tony was strolling back into the bullpen with a bounce in his step. "Miss me, McGeek?"

He'd gotten a call from Kate saying that they'd recovered Tony safely, but it was still good to see him. "You all right, Tony?"

"Never better."

Gibbs stalked into the bullpen behind him. Kate wisely kept quiet and slipped behind her desk.

Gibbs slammed his gear down onto his desk. "Oh, he's fine, McGee. Had an iron knife two millimeters away from being buried in his shoulder, but he's just fine and dandy."

"Oh."

Tony, despite all good sense anyone might have once suspected him to possess, was still obnoxiously bouncy.

"You seem . . . energetic," Tim said cautiously.

"I killed White. He was trying to stab me, so I shot him." Tony was still jittering like a kid on a sugar high. "What's that word for how you feel when you feel kind of bad because you just killed someone you sort of liked, but at the same time you feel like bursting into random song from sheer energy?"

"I don't think there is one," Tim said warily.

Tony stopped bouncing, looked over at him, and frowned. "I'm not blood mad, McParanoid."

"I never said you were," he said, still cautiously. "Your eyes are still just a little pinkish, that's all."

Tony pulled out his phone and checked his reflection in the screen. He twisted the screen to one side. "Tinged, McGee. Just tinged. I'm fine."

_Running through the woods past trees he'd been so proudly identifying just a day before, panting for breath as he tripped over tree roots. Ghost attacks weren't supposed to happen here, they were supposed to be something that happened three states away in a small town graveyard when someone did something stupid. It was only supposed to happen to people when they did something wrong not here, not now, not to them, not when he was running and running and couldn't even breathe -_

"Tim." Tony's quiet voice jolted him out of his thoughts. The older agent was standing in front of his desk and for once looked completely serious. "Hey. I'm cool, really. It's not like that."

"How many people have you killed now, Tony?" He kept his voice quiet in the futile hope that Gibbs and Kate wouldn't overhear them, but he couldn't stop it from shaking a little.

"Doesn't matter." Tony's voice was firm. "And it won't matter how many you eventually pull the trigger on either. We're not going to go blood mad. Gibbs wouldn't allow it."

Anyone who had ever done any research whatsoever on the topic could have spotted that for the utter nonsense it was. McGee had done his research. It didn't work like that.

But, illogical as it was, he had full confidence that Tony was right. Gibbs would never allow it.

Tony grinned at him and headed back to his own seat.

"McGee, care to tell me why the Deputy Secretary of State filed a complaint against you?" Gibbs demanded.

Tim gulped. "He was, um, interfering with the investigation. He kept pulling me from trying to find Tony, and he was threatening to put the FBI on the case."

"So? What'd you do about it?"

He couldn't look at Gibbs. "I told him to shut up since he wasn't helping. And I had them cut the video feed." Gibbs was going to be furious with him. He'd be lucky not to get fired.

"Good work, Tim."

He looked up, eyes wide. "What?"

"You heard me. I'll go square it with the director." True to his word, Gibbs stood up and headed for the stairs. He paused on the landing, looked down at them, and gave a short, decisive nod of satisfaction.

Tony wasn't the only one who was bouncing for the rest of the day.

 

Ducky kept telling him that the human body needed at least eight hours of sleep a night to function optimally, but Gibbs had been running on four hours or less for years, and he wasn't about to stop now. He'd sacrificed sleep in favor of sanity and made up for the difference with coffee.

Sleep brought dreams, and there were plenty of things he didn't want his subconscious trying to sort through. The war. A shattered window and a mangled car. A coffin that was far too small. All the cases that he couldn't solve. All the victims that he couldn't save.

Happy memories that were soft and sweet and inevitably ended with him waking up cold and sore on the couch in a house that was far too quiet.

He'd started using the bed again when he brought Tony home in order to avoid questions he hadn't been ready to answer yet. It solved the sore part of the equation at least.

Nothing stopped the dreams.

There were new ones, now. Dark shadows at the bottom of a pool on a sticky hot day. A hotel room with an empty bed covered in sweat soaked sheets. An old forest trail that ended in a clearing where an inhaler lay crushed and something lay hidden under the bushes.

He dreamed of coming home to a too quiet house where the pictures of his kids were smashed and there were three sprays of salt on the floor.

He woke up. Didn't shout, didn't cry, didn't pant, just woke up and turned to stare at the pictures beside his bed.

Kelly. Shannon. Tony, Kate, and Tim, back when there was a healthy flush in their cheeks.

But he also woke up to hear the sounds of three kids trying to be quiet as they moved about the house and hissed whispers to each other.

Or, after a bad case, he woke up to three little bodies pressed up to him like Kelly had always done after a nightmare. They'd be reading, or whispering to each other, or just staring at him if it was really bad, but they'd be warmer than usual from soaking up his body heat, and he never told them off no matter how loud they'd gotten.

Hard to dream about an empty house when he had his three kids around him.

Hard but not impossible, so the dreams didn't stop. He could live with that. He had for years.

Gibbs dealt less well when the dreams starting to edge over into reality.

"McGee, get me eyes in autopsy, now!" he barked as he stalked into Abby's lab.

Tim nodded tightly. "Feeding the wire in now, Boss. We should be able to see them in three, two, one - "

There. He grabbed the edge of the desk and clenched it so hard his knuckles turned white.

Ducky and Gerald were at the far side of the room. In the middle, in between the two autopsy tables, a man was standing a few paces away from Kate.

The gun he held almost casually in his hand was pointed straight at her head.

It couldn't hurt her, he reminded himself. As long as the man, whoever he was, didn't know what she was, she would be fine.

Abby stepped up next to him to put her lip reading skills to good use. She was even paler than normal and shaky. Gibbs forced himself to relax enough to put an arm around her. "Abbs?"

"He's saying they broke the rules, Gibbs," she said anxiously. "He's going to make someone pay - "

The gun swung around to point at Gerald. Kate flung herself back in front of it, crashing into the autopsy table in the process.

The gun fired. Kate's head jerked back, but she didn't miss a beat. Her gun was gone, but she didn't need one. Her arm shot forward toward the man's chest. It sank straight through his clothes as she went for his heart. Good girl.

Gibbs didn't need Abby to translate the scream of agony that ripped out of her throat.

Kate fell to her knees. She was cradling the arm she'd shot through him and rocking back and forth. The arm was jerking convulsively.

"Abby!"

"Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no - "

"I'll try to clean up the video, Boss," McGee said shakily. "It's gotta be salt though. He must have sewn a packet into his clothes or something."

"Salt vests, McGee, look one up sometime when Kate's not dying! Get me something!"

The man had wavered for a minute from the shock of a ghost reaching through him, but he was back in control now. He was smiling.

Gibbs was going to kill him. Slowly.

Gerald was still in the corner, probably in shock. Ducky had darted forward, gun or no gun, and was trying to brush the salt off Kate's arm.

"He's, he's telling her it's going to be okay," Abby whispered. "Gibbs, how bad is it?"

"Don't know," he said shortly. It depended on too many things. "McGee - "

"Picture's a little better, Boss, but there's only so much I can do." The feed flickered for a minute before coming back into clearer focus. Between the low lighting and poor quality camera, however, he still couldn't tell much more than that Kate was in pain and that the very-soon-to-be-dead man was still smiling about it.

The man turned in a slow circle. His smile widened when he saw the small wire hanging from the ceiling.

"Um, Boss?"

The man raised his gun at the camera.

The feed went dark.

Gibbs slammed his hand down on the corner. "Get me something," he demanded. "Anything." He stormed toward the door.

"You're going get them out, right, Boss?" Tim asked, voice cracking a little.

"Soon as I can," he promised.

His oldest friend and his little girl were in trouble. He'd go in there alone and unarmed if he had to, but he was getting them out.

He took the stairs just to keep himself moving. He firmly compartmentalized the image of Kate thrashing and all the competing images of ghosts fading out that were clamoring for his attention.

Kate was stubborn. Ducky would get her cleaned up if he had to pick off every last grain with a pair of tweezers. They would be fine, and he would shoot the guy that had put them in this situation in the first place.

Tony was waiting for him in the bullpen. His jacket had long since been discarded. His gun holster was plainly visible, and he could see Tony's hand automatically twitching towards it like it was a comfort blanket.

"DiNozzo!"

"I've got identical replacements of all the evidence from our last case, Boss. Our intruder should have no way of knowing that his ransom's a fake." He snatched the bags up from his desk and followed his boss toward the elevator. "I just got a call from Abby. She had a breakthrough on why the guy probably wants all this stuff. There's evidence that the nasal spray contained something a little nastier than you would think. Looks like the victim from the last case was a terrorist intending to engage in a little biological warfare. CDC's been contacted, but we think the victim died before he could carry out his plan. Our intruder's probably planning to pick up where he left off."

Gibbs stopped by the elevator doors and held out his hands for the evidence. Tony hesitated.

"I might be a better choice, Gibbs. He can't shoot me. At least not effectively."

"He's got salt."

Tony paled. "Kate?"

"Still with us for now, but she won't be for long if you don't give me that evidence!"

The doors dinged open. Tony handed over the evidence without another word. Gibbs got in.

"I want you on the stairs with the SWAT team, Tony. I need someone there I know I can trust." He saw Tony nod just before the doors slid shut.

 _Hold on, Katydid, I'm coming._

He'd failed one daughter. He wasn't about to fail another.

The doors slid open. He walked forward with the bags of evidence carefully cradled his arms and stopped outside the Autopsy door.

The lock disengaged. The door slid open.

The intruder's gun was trained on him from the moment he walked in. In the dim glow of a single lamp, it was hard to see much of his face, but he looked young. Thirty, maybe. Young and entirely too confident.

"Special Agent Gibbs. I've heard so much about you."

Gibbs ignored him and scanned the room. "Where are my people?"

"Safe, for the moment. Put those bags in that crate over there. Thank you. Now slide it across the floor."

Gibbs leaned over the crate and saw that Kate's gun had been abandoned behind it. He did as instructed, but he turned his body so that he could claim the gun without it being seen.

"So hypocritical, you Americans. You insist ghosts are not citizens, yet you let them risk their existences to serve their country." He smiled. "Such a lovely girl, your Kate."

"Where. Is. She."

"Safe, as I said. You are an angry man, Special Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs had no problem with that assessment. He turned, gun already coming up, finger squeezing the trigger.

The intruder threw himself to one side. The bullet meant for his head thunked into the joint of his shoulder.

The man grabbed something from his left pocket and threw it even as he fell back.

The world exploded in light and sound.

It returned piecemeal, and when it did, the room was much brighter than he remembered. Tony was crouching over him. A few men from the SWAT team were still in the room.

He sat up blearily and put a hand to his head. "Sit rep, DiNozzo."

"Intruder had a flash grenade, Boss. It knocked you out. You got him pretty bad in the shoulder, but he managed to shoot his way through the agents on the stairwell I wasn't on." His jaw tightened. "Sorry, Boss."

"Rule Six. Not your fault." He shook his head to clear it, and the nightmare came rushing back in all its full glory. "Kate?"

"Kate, Duck, and Gerald are all locked in the storage room." DiNozzo nodded to it.

"Well, then, why haven't they unlocked it?"

DiNozzo coughed. "I didn't say it was locked on our side, Boss. There's a lock on both sides of the door, and once our shooter locked 'em in there, they made sure he couldn't get them back out. They're getting a locksmith, but I think the door's been barricaded."

"And they won't come out?"

"The Duck says he's waiting for a voice he recognizes." Tony gave him a significant look and lowered his voice. "Considering he said that to me, I'm thinking he's waiting until Kate's a bit more presentable."

Gibbs' gut clenched. If Kate had been weakened enough, she would have reverted to her younger self. The form she'd worn she died.

"The SWAT team's assuming he's in shock and not thinking clearly. They're debating what to do. Oh, and every law enforcement officer in the city's after our intruder."

"Good," he growled. "Help me up."

"Um, Boss, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"DiNozzo!"

"Right. Of course you're sure. You know, if we could clear the room, I could go through the wall and see how she was doing."

"And how do you plan to get SWAT out of here?" Gibbs pushed himself to his feet and forced the dizziness aside so that he could walk toward storage closet.

Tony hurried along behind him. "Point taken, Boss. I'll go distract them a little so you can talk."

Gibbs slid down the storage room door until he was siting on the floor. Tony was already talking with the leader of the SWAT team. There were a lot of extravagant hand gestures involved.

He was good at that. Good at dealing with people in general, really. A lot better than Gibbs would ever be.

"Hey, Duck," he called softly through the door.

"Ah, Jethro." Ducky's voice sounded harried, but there was a bit of relief in it. "You're here."

"Yep. Gonna let me in, Duck?"

Ducky hesitated. "I'm not sure that would be wise."

A pained whimper followed the statement. Gibbs' heart squeezed.

He leaned back against the door, trying to get as close to them as possible. "Hey, Katydid. How you holding up?"

"Hurts." Her voice was small and painfully young.

"I know," he said gently. "I know. Just hang on for Ducky, all right? He'll get you all cleaned up. It'll stop hurting then. You've just got to hang on for me, Kate. Everything's going to be just fine."

There was a faint clatter inside. "Jethro, I've gotten nearly all this salt off her, but she'll still need some time to pull herself together. Unfortunately, Gerald is also in need of attention. He hasn't been hurt, but I think this was one too many nasty shocks, and he hasn't been talking much. I am concerned, however, about what he'll say when we get out."

"Understood, Duck. Guess I'll have to talk the SWAT team into leaving after all." He paused. "Hey, Kate? You did good. You're still doing good."

Kate managed to pant something that sounded like "weak".

He shook his head. "No. Most people would have given in by now. You're being real brave, Kate. Just keep being brave for me while I go sort this out, all right?"

"Okay," she breathed.

"Good girl."

He shoved himself to his feet once more and forced himself to walk stiffly forward to where Tony was still distracting the men.

"DiNozzo. Go get a Caff-POW. A big one."

Understanding flashed across Tony's face. "On it, Boss." He disappeared out the door.

Gibbs turned back to the SWAT team leader. "They're scared and not thinking straight," he said flatly. "One of them's in shock. Having a bunch of strangers standing around with guns isn't going to help any. They're not coming out till you leave, and we don't have time to argue about it with 'em."

It wasn't procedure, but Gibbs managed to bully his way into getting what he wanted. He usually did.

Tony returned to the now much emptier room with a Caff-POW for Kate and a tea for Ducky.

"Abbs and the McGeek are dealing with the security footage," he told Gibbs as he handed the drinks over. "And they've freeze framed the video on the intruder's face. They're running it now."

"Good," he growled. He raised his voice a little. "All clear, Duck."

"Ah, yes, good. Er, Jethro? I'm very much afraid that in my adrenaline fueled panic I managed to move quite a bit more than I'm currently capable of budging."

"On it," Tony assured him as he stepped forward and slid through the wall.

Gibbs still wasn't used to that.

Ducky's muffled voice continued talking. "It reminds me of a time in London when they found the body of a young man who had barricaded himself into his mother's basement. It took days before - "

The sound of a filing cabinet scraping across the floor cut him off. Another dragging sound followed before the door clicked open to reveal a tired and careworn Ducky half supporting Gerald. He hobbled forward until Gerald could sit on one of the autopsy tables. He continued forward to claim his tea.

"Thank you, Jethro, I needed that. I very much look forward to seeing that young man on one of the tables down here one day."

"Thank DiNozzo," Gibbs said absently. His eyes were locked on the door.

Tony was carrying a very small and tired looking Kate. She was twelve years old and in a swimsuit, a line of blood matted to the side of her head.

"Daredevil stunts are supposed to be my job, Kit-Kat," Tony was telling her in a voice that was striving to be light.

"Idiotic stunts, you mean," Kate mumbled.

"Those too," Tony agreed readily.

"Rethink that," Gibbs suggested in a tone that meant it wasn't really a suggestion at all. He walked over and took Kate out of Tony's arms gently. He brushed the hair out of her face. "Gotcha something." He offered her the Caff-POW.

She took it and began draining it eagerly. He could almost feel her growing more solid as the sugar hit her.

"She'll be fine, Jethro," Ducky said from behind him. "A few days off would not be remiss though, I think."

"As long as you need," Gibbs promised her. "Whatever you need."

The elevator door dinged open. Gibbs turned automatically to shift Kate out of sight, but it was only McGee. He came running to the room, only skidding to a stop when he saw Kate.

"You're alright," he breathed out in relief. "I thought - we - Well, we were worried."

"Kate's too stubborn to leave, probie," Tony said cheerfully. "You should know that by now."

Gibbs hoped so. More than anything, he hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm no therapist so I could be wrong about this, but I doubt any therapist worth their salt would have told Kate's family to totally erase her memory from their lives. HOWEVER, I can see one telling them that a bit less focus on the past might be helpful, and I can see grieving parents who were trying not to blame their son misinterpreting that. Think "what the trolls said vs. what Elsa's parents actually did" in Frozen.
> 
> Episodes referenced or included are: "Chained", "Bête Noire", and "The Penelope Papers". The line about "you can do better than this" is more or less quoted from that last one.
> 
> I know that in "Chained" the Deputy Secretary of State was Anna Elliott. I have elected to make the character a male not because I'm unaware of this or have a problem with a woman being the Deputy Secretary of State, but because I wanted to have a clearer parallel to McGee's father.


	7. Jimmy

Ducky read through the applications to serve as his assistant carefully. Unfortunately, it didn't take long. Word had gotten out about why Gerald had left, and few were willing to risk stepping up into his place.

Well, word had gotten out about the unknown terrorist who had held them hostage. Word had not gotten out about the ghostly nature of the recently returned Kate. Jethro would never have allowed it.

He turned back to the body waiting for him on the autopsy table. "Gerald will be difficult to replace, my dear. I must admit, I quite liked the lad." He made his way over to the drawer where he stored his first set of tools, the ones Gerald had never been quite comfortable with. "I wish him luck in his new position. Goodness knows it will likely be a good deal quieter there. I do worry, though." He poured an inch of liquid into the spray bottle. "He has an excellent grasp of the anatomical aspects of our work, but he was never quite comfortable with coaxing a reluctant ghost into coming to life and spilling its secrets." He twisted the nozzle on and let loose a gentle mist of red drops. "But we know better, don't we, my dear?"

A faint blur twitched.

Ducky smiled. "That's it, my dear. The courts might not be willing to listen to your story, but I assure you, I will. And I have a very good friend who will find whatever evidence needed to back your testimony up."

Hopefully, one of the applicants in the stack would be willing to help with that.

 

There had been five initial applicants. One, upon viewing his frankly appalling application, he didn't bother to interview.

The rest, well . . .

 

_Blakely, Sarah._

"The interview went rather well, I thought. Obviously I'll still need to see the others, but she's a definite possibility. She rather reminds me of a young woman I met in France some years ago. They both have the exact same habit of tugging on their necklaces once for luck."

Jethro raised an eyebrow.

Anthony walked up to put a report on his desk. "She called you an old coot that talked too much when she was in the elevator."

"Ah." Ducky deflated. "Back to the drawing board, then."

On his way back to the elevator, he heard their usual chatter start up again.

"That would explain why you asked me to hack her phone and change her ringtone to "It's a Small World," Tim mused.

It was terribly uncharitable of him, but he couldn't hold back a small smile at that.

 

_Browning, Alex._

Ducky had decided to direct all future applicants to meet him in the bullpen before moving on to a conference room. His assistant would need to be liked the whole team, after all, and Jethro's gut had never been wrong about a person yet.

Unfortunately, he'd been delayed and was running a bit late to meet with this one. He hurried out of the elevator only to see that the young man had already arrived and was leaning on the divider by Kate's desk.

"All right, if tomorrow won't work for you, when will? I'm free all week." He winked at her.

Oh, dear. Poor Kate was looking quite frustrated, and the rest of the team was nowhere in sight.

Kate smiled tightly. "And I'm working all week. My boss doesn't approve of me going out on school nights."

"He'll never know. Come on, live a little."

Ducky stepped forward. "Most people find that Jethro knows most everything about his people." His gaze hardened. "He's also a former marine sniper."

Jethro appeared from around the corner as if summoned, ever present coffee in hand. "Once a marine, always a marine, Duck." He came to a stop just behind the unfortunate Mr. Browning, deliberately standing too close to the young man for comfort. "Who are you and why are you bothering one of my agents?"

Ducky went ahead and headed back down to Autopsy. By the time Jethro was done with him, he very much doubted Mr. Browning would even want to hear mention of NCIS, much less work there.

 

_Dearing, Ethan._

He'd had high hopes for the young man. He'd been polite to Kate without flirting, he'd recognized Anthony's movie reference, and although he'd appeared a bit taken aback when he'd caught Timothy talking about hacking into something, he hadn't seemed overly alarmed. His interview had gone so splendidly that he'd taken him down to Autopsy so that he could get a feel for the place.

Then dear Abby had come down, followed shortly by Jethro, and, well . . .

After wrapping, Abby's bruised knuckles, Ducky cleared off one of his tables and gathered up the paperwork necessary to declare a death accidental.

Just in case.

 

_Palmer, James._

Preferred name: Palmer, Jimmy.

Ducky looked up from the paperwork to more closely examine the nervous young man in front of him. "It says here that you are a . . . registered ghost."

"Yes, sir! I've got the paperwork right here." He began rifling through a satchel. A small pile of items grew on the conference table while Ducky's eyebrows rose progressively higher. "No, that's my work certification . . . Ah, here we are!" He pulled out a slightly rumpled certificate with a triumphant grin that quickly grew nervous as he saw the doctor's expression and the mess he'd made. "Sorry about that, Dr. Mallard. I'll just - Here." He quickly swept the items back into the satchel and handed over the paper. "It's all in order," he added anxiously.

"Indeed," Ducky said, peering through his glasses. "Quite a feat to get added to the Register in this day and age, Mr. Palmer. It's been some time since I've seen one of these." Not at all long since he'd seen a ghost, but a long time indeed since he'd seen one that was legally allowed to linger.

Mr. Palmer nodded eagerly. "I know! We had to really fight to get it, but after my mother threatened to go to the papers with how badly my murder investigation had been handled, they decided it was easier to just do what she wanted."

An interesting woman, by the sound of her. "Murder investigation? Whatever happened?"

Mr. Palmer winced. "I honestly don't know," he said earnestly. "I mean, how embarrassing, right? But it's like I've completely blocked it out."

"And the investigation itself?"

"The medical examiner was drunk," he said glumly. "By the time he was done with the body, about the only thing they were sure of was that I hadn't died in a fire."

Ducky shook his head. "Sadly, there is a long history of autopsies gone horribly wrong. Why, I remember one fellow who - " He caught himself. "But you don't want to hear about that just now."

Mr. Palmer had leaned forward in genuine interest. "What happened?"

An appreciative audience? There was one point for the young man. "He'd been the medical examiner for some fifteen years and thought he'd seen just about everything there was to see. What he hadn't counted on, however, was that a year old corpse of a serial killer might still contain a ghost who had managed to possess the very beetles that were devouring her body . . . "

 

"It says here that he died at seventeen. Are you sure he's got the education to do this, Duck?"

The bullpen was dim. Most of the lights were off, the other agents having already left for the evening, and Jethro's three agents presumably waiting for him in the car. Jethro was leaning back in his chair. Not challenging, not yet, just making sure his old friend was sure about this.

"He had been already been accepted into college when his life was so tragically cut short. The school was simply not alerted that there had been a change."

"And medical school?"

"His records were impeccable and, apparently, his mother threatened to make it the posthumous rights' case of this generation. Regardless of the outcome, the school didn't like the idea of the publicity and court costs and gave in."

"Sounds like a formidable lady." Jethro's tone was neutral, but Ducky thought he caught a hint of admiration there.

"Indeed."

"He'll have to stand on his own two feet around here," Jethro warned.

"I'm quite aware of that, Jethro. I think that some of that iron has found it's way into Mr. Palmer. It only needs a chance to be uncovered."

Jethro drained the last dregs of his coffee and stood. "It's your call, Duck. Want me to have a few words with the director?"

"If you would. I have a feeling this may not be the most popular of decisions with him."

"Eh, don't worry, Duck. Morrow doesn't meddle." He tossed the coffee cup and headed towards the stairs.

"Thank you, Jethro," he called.

He got a dismissive hand in reply as the agent jogged up the stairs.

 

"You do realize we could get sued for turning down living applicants in favor of a dead one." To Morrow's credit, the words were calm instead of exasperated.

"Only if the other applicants find out."

"Or the press."

Gibbs shrugged. He wished the director would hurry it up. His kids were waiting for him.

Morrow set the file down on his desk and folded his hands. "It's highly unorthodox."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Morrow sighed.

"Which is why he's perfect for someone who'll have to work so closely with you, I suppose. I'll approve it. It's not like the other applicants were any good."

Gibbs nodded in satisfaction and headed for the door. Morrow's voice stopped him.

"Any luck with our intruder yet?"

Gibbs didn't turn around. He paused for long enough to get the fury the mere mention of the man always stoked up in him under control before answering. "Kate pulled together a profile, and McGee did something with a database. Should have a hit soon."

He slipped out the door before he could be delayed any further. The kids would be fine, of course they were fine, but -

Bad things happened when he let the people he cared about out of his sight for too long. Better to hurry. Better to be sure.

He did stop for just an instant his desk so he could grab his gear. He glanced at his computer out of habit.

The quickly flashing images had stopped. One picture took up most of the screen. There was a name beside it.

Ari Haswari.

Normally, knowing someone's name made it harder to shoot them.

Gibbs didn't think he'd have that problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No character on the show makes me cringe and cover my ears as much as Palmer does.
> 
> This doesn't change the fact that he's one of my favorite characters on it.
> 
> True, most of the time he shows a basic lack of common sense when it comes to keeping his mouth shut, but every now and then, we get something like "Bounce" where we see him support Tony, or that Christmas episode when he defends his team - Not to mention "About Face" when he hits the suspect with the car, or early Season 10 with his incredible support of Ducky, his attempts to get him to return, and his enthusiasm when Ducky finally does. He probably won't show up in this fic all that much, but I thought he deserved at least a few minutes in the limelight. And, hey: The plot marches on! Slowly, but it's marching.
> 
> Further Notes: Since in the episode "Recovery" we learn that it was people from the armory that interviewed the people applying to join their number, it didn't seem like a stretch that Ducky might do the same.
> 
> Minor references to "Reveille" and "About Face". (Specifically, "Reveille" is when we learn Ari's identity, and in "About Face" Palmer talks about sending an email to his mom. As far as I'm aware, that's the only time she's brought up. Given that Palmer seemed to have a good relationship with her, we can only speculate as to why she wasn't a factor in his wedding. The real reason is probably that the writers either a) forgot about her or b) didn't want to complicate the plot by introducing her, but my personal headcanon is that she died sometime before then, and Palmer dealt with it in one of the episodes we didn't see him in.)


	8. Little Toy Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is taken from the Carrie Underwood song of the same name, but the chapter has very little, if anything, to do with the song lyrics. I deemed it appropriate for other reasons which should become apparent shortly.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: Normally, whether or not you read the author's notes in my stories doesn't really matter all that much. For this chapter, however, I would ask that you at least read the first paragraph of the one on the bottom once you've read this chapter.
> 
> Also, WARNING for violence, disturbing imagery, and brief consideration of nonsuicidal self-harm.

Tony had to admit, there were certain advantages to the whole being dead thing. Such as, for instance, the fact that mysterious white powders in envelopes were much less dangerous for him than they once would have been.

Provided, of course, that the powder wasn't salt.

The powder had turned out to be the plague, of all things, so it was really for the best that he'd been the one to open it and not Gibbs. He'd just had to sit still while a masked Ducky carefully removed every last grain of it from his ectoplasm. He'd just had to smile at the men in hazmat suits when they came to collect the blood that they assumed was his and was actually one of the vials Ducky kept on hand for situations like this.

Gibbs would have been an entirely different matter. If it had been Gibbs -

That "if" was what had him slamming the woman responsible against the wall to cuff her with more force than was probably necessary. That "if" was what had him talking nonstop for the rest of the day and why Kate and Tim played along rather than throwing paper wads at him.

Some "ifs" didn't bear thinking about.

 

"Ooh, Kate, look!" Tony crouched down to gently scoop up his prize. "It's gotta be at least three feet long!" He held it up for her to see.

Kate didn't quite shriek, but she did stumble back a few steps closer to the car where they'd found the two dead naval aviators. "Tony, put that down! It could be poisonous!"

"So what if it is?" he scoffed, running his fingers over the snake's scales. "What's it going to do, bite me?"

"It's a snake," she muttered darkly as if that was all the explanation needed.

Tim edged his way down the last of the hill, keys in hand. He was wheezing a little.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You do realize it's literally impossible for you to have allergies now, right?"

"I know, I know, it's all in my head. Hey, cool snake."

Tony grinned smugly at Kate as Tim went to unlock the trunk of the car.

"Feel free to get to work any day now," Kate told him.

He sighed and bent down to let the snake go. Kate had no appreciation for -

"Tim, freeze!"

Tim froze in the process of turning the key in the lock. "Tony?"

"There's a bomb under the car," he said tightly. "Turning the key any more could set it off."

Tim gulped. "We'd be fine, though, right? I mean, it'll mess up the crime scene, but an explosion won't hurt us."

"Probably not," he said as reassuringly as he could. He carefully took the key from Tim, making sure not to let it turn any more or snap back. "Unless they added iron nails in there for shrapnel. You two head back up the hill as fast as you can. I'll handle this."

Kate stepped forward. "Let me do it, Tony. If there are nails in there, I can handle it."

"I'm the fastest," he snapped. "I've beaten you in every race we've run. That goes for both of you. I'm senior field agent. It's my call. Now get out of here!"

It had taken every ounce of Tim's courage to stay this long, he could tell. He wasn't surprised when he started back up the hill, first slowly, then running.

Kate waited longer, looking at him helplessly.

He tried to smile at her. "Last one to the top of the hill's a rotten egg?"

"Last one up the hill has to explain this to Gibbs," she corrected before she took off running.

"That's just not fair," he muttered. He looked nervously at the key before checking to make sure the others were far enough away. "Okay. I can do this. It's just like that movie."

He turned his body so that he'd be ready to run.

He let the key go and took off running.

The blast caught him near the top of the hill. He hit the ground. The carpet of dead leaves was softer than he would have thought.

He wondered what had happened to the snake.

Tony forced himself to focus and pushed himself to his knees. He could hear Gibbs shouting. He'd need to go tell him he was fine.

He glanced down at the ground beside him as he got to his feet.

A rusty nail had buried itself not two inches from him.

Maybe he shouldn't mention that to Gibbs.

 

"I'm fine," Gibbs snapped.

His three agents didn't look convinced.

"Gibbs, you were nearly blown up by Ari. You're not fine," Kate said. "At the very least, you have to be shaken."

"You need to rest, Boss," Tony said quietly. "We've got this."

Gibbs pushed his way past them to his desk. Ari had nearly killed both Kate and Tony, and very easily could have gotten all three of his kids. If they thought he was going to leave them here so he could go home and get some sleep, then he wasn't the one who needed to get his head checked.

"McGee, any luck tracking him?"

"Um, working on it, Boss." He hurried back to his own desk.

Kate put her hands on Gibbs's desk and leaned forward. "Gibbs, he's fixated on you for some twisted reason. You need protection."

He could take care of himself.

Tony took up a position beside Kate. "The director agrees with us. He wants you to have a protection detail 24/7."

He glared at them. "And when that protection detail starts noticing that none of my agents seem to be getting tired?"

"Oh, that's the easy part," Tony said cheerfully. "Remember the background Abby made up for Kate's resume?"

This had better not be going where he thought it was going.

"We're your protection detail," Kate told him. "And I'm in charge."

"Okay, so the plan did have one flaw," Tony admitted. Kate elbowed him. Tony pretended it hurt and winced dramatically before continuing. "It won't be that different than normal, Boss. We've always got your six. You've just got to be a bit more careful than usual, that's all."

"No," he said firmly. It was his job to protect his people, not the other way around.

"The director disagrees," Kate countered. "Which is why, starting now, you're wearing this." She marched back to her desk and pulled out a bullet proof vest from behind it.

That much, he could live with. But: "I don't care if you can survive it, any of you even think of taking a bullet for me, and you'll be riding your desk for a month. Clear?"

"Crystal," Kate assured him.

"We'll do it anyway," Tony added.

"But we do understand," McGee finished.

Gibbs growled wordlessly and went to go put the vest on.

 

Normally, there was a certain grim joy in solving a case. The worst had already happened; it was left to them to piece it together so that they could bring peace to those left behind, and, sometimes, to the victim themselves.

This time, they'd found two dead naval aviators with their hands missing, Gibbs had nearly lost Tony in an explosion, they'd found out Ari was back, Ari had tried to kill him, Morrow'd set up a ridiculous protection detail, and, to cap it all off, they'd finally figured out why the hands had been cut off: so that terrorists would have access to the dead men's fingerprints and could fly in a drone armed with explosives onto returning sailors and their families.

There wasn't any satisfaction or joy in a case like that. Just grim determination and a growing urge to stick Ari's head on a stick.

Accidentally, of course. Gibbs still didn't have the go ahead from the director.

Gibbs slammed on the brakes of the car and was reaching for the door before it had quite screeched to a halt.

"McGee, can you jam the signal from here?"

"Still don't quite have the signal, Boss - " Tim leaned out the door with his computer. "There! Got it! I can try, Boss, but it may take me awhile."

"Don't try, do." Gibbs scanned the warehouses that lined both sides of the street.

"No sign of the terrorists, Boss," Tony said quietly. "How do you want to do this?"

Gibbs grabbed the shotgun he'd demanded from the armory and shot a street lamp.

"Gibbs, what on earth - " Kate began.

An armed man poked his head out one of the warehouse windows in an attempt to see what was going on. Gibbs fired again. The man dropped.

"Oh," Kate said faintly.

"That one," Gibbs said unnecessarily. "DiNozzo, you've got the fire escape. Kate, with me." He glanced at each of them to make sure they all had comms. "You run into trouble, give a holler." He frowned. "Kate, where's your vest?"

"It's not like I need one," she pointed out.

"Put it on. If someone brought salt, it'll give you a bit of cover."

Kate grabbed one from the back and pulled it on. Gibbs nodded. "Let's go."

He took the lead as they entered the warehouse. It was dim, dusty, and quiet. The first floor was empty except for a few old crates and some exposed pipes. Gibbs jerked his head toward the stairs in the back. Kate nodded.

The man he'd shot was still lying in a pool of his own blood on the second floor. He was the only one there.

That left the roof.

Gun at the ready, Gibbs glanced back at Kate to make sure she was ready before going up the last few stairs and opening the door that led to the roof.

A shot rang out as soon as the door swung open, but it went over Gibbs' head. He fired back immediately, hitting his attacker square in the chest. The man went down.

Gibbs moved to one side to let Kate out.

The man's partner came running around the corner, firing wildly. One clipped Kate's shoulder.

She fired back twice. One hit the man in the side.

The other got him in the head.

Large crates dotted the roof, hiding certain sections from view. More shots rang out from the area near the fire escape.

Gibbs took off running.

The shots had come from the far corner. By the time he got there, they had stopped.

Tony's head poked up from behind a crate. "Over here, Boss. I think this was the guy controlling the drone. I was too late to stop him from sending it out."

"McGee," he barked into the comm.

"Working on it, Boss." Tim's voice was tight.

Gunshots exploded from the street.

"McGee!"

There was a quick spurt of return shots. "I'm okay, Boss, but I could use some backup. They nearly got the computer."

Bullets clanged into metal. There was a pause over the comms, then: "Got one, Boss!"

"You get that drone! I'll take care of them." The fire escape would be the quickest way down. "DiNozzo, Kate - "

Kate slammed into him before sliding to the ground.

Gibbs hit his knees beside her in an instant. Tony did the same. He'd pulled his gun out and was scanning the rooftops.

Kate glanced down at her bulletproof vest where a slug had embedded itself. "Please tell me I don't actually have desk duty for a month."

"You see him, Boss?" Tony asked quietly.

Gibbs fired his gun by way of answer. The sniper fell.

McGee's voice crackled over the comm. "I steered the drone into the water, Boss, but I'm still under fire. I could use some help out here."

"On our way, McGee." Gibbs pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his bad knee protested.

Tony offered Kate a hand up. She took it, grimacing. "He wasn't joking about the desk duty, was he?"

"Doubt it," Tony said cheerfully.

"That's what I - "

For a split second, a strange whistling noise cut through the air.

Then Kate was screaming.

"Down!" Gibbs barked, tackling Tony back onto the concrete. He stayed hunched over him protectively and turned his head to frantically look over Kate.

Kate had fallen to her knees. She was tearing small shreds of shiny black cloth from her forehead. Something wet glistened both on her forehead and her fingertips.

She was still screaming.

"Kate!"

She half turned, her whole body shaking and flickering in and out.

Gibbs started to crawl over to her.

A second whistling filled the air. Something hit the concrete an inch from Tony's now unprotected face.

Tony flinched away from it. Gibbs automatically threw himself back between his kid and the danger.

The message was clear.

Gibbs half turned, trying to get the shooter in his sights, but he couldn't see him.

"Kate - "

A third whistling. Kate went down.

She writhed on the concrete, earsplitting shrieks rending the air.

Not this. Not again. Not this time.

Tony was struggling beneath him, trying to get to Kate. Gibbs shoved him down.

"Go through the roof," he ordered quickly. Tony stared at him for a second - a second too long, Kate was still screaming - before he got it.

Tony slid into transparence and started to fall through the roof.

Not fast enough.

"Kate, stay calm," he ordered. "Ducky'll be here soon. He'll get you cleaned up."

He wasn't even sure Kate could hear him.

Tony was gone. Gibbs scrambled across the roof, once again putting himself between the shooter and his kid.

Not his agent. Not now. Kate had crumpled into someone young and small.

A little girl in a blue swimsuit.

That was a good idea, the smaller she was, the more the vest could cover -

Gibbs dropped to his knees beside her. "I'm right here, Kate. You're okay. You're alright. I need you to do what Tony did. Go through the roof." She'd be safer that way, and maybe whatever salt she'd gotten into her system would be purged and left somewhere in the roof.

Kate stared right through him. Her hands were still clawing at her face, but they looked smaller. Shriveled.

Gibbs grabbed a hold of her.

Or tried to.

His hands slid right through her.

"Kate! Kate, look at me!"

She was still shivering. Flickering. In, out, in, out, out, out -

"Kate, hold on! Look at me! Kate!"

_A crumpled car on the side of a winding road, the driver's window shot out, and his two beautiful girls so still in the back -_

In.

The side of her head was sunken in like she'd hit it on something. It was clotted with blood. A long line of it fell down her face.

"Don't you _dare_ give up on me now."

The comms had been crackling with shots a minute ago. They were dead quiet now.

Kate wasn't screaming now, just whimpering. Curling in on herself like Kelly had when her stomach had hurt.

"That's right, Kate, I've got you. You're gonna be fine, Katydid," he soothed.

She curled further and further in on and herself, and her eyes didn't even seem to see him -

She flickered into view and back out. In, out, In, out.

Out. Out. Out.

Out.

One minute. Two.

Gibbs pushed himself up and scanned the building across from him.

The shooter - Ari - was gone.

It was a hot, still day. He hadn't taken the time to notice that before. The heat was practically a haze.

Kate didn't like hot days for much the same reason she didn't like pools.

Well, she was out of the heat now. It was a bit cooler in the warehouse. Hopefully, falling through the roof had removed the salt that must have been mixed into whatever it was that had hit her.

If Tony hadn't stayed on that level, if he'd gone to help McGee, Kate would be alone. She would be alone, and she was still hurt.

Franks would have headslapped him into next week for not realizing that sooner. Gibbs ran for the door that led to the stairs. He had to step over the bodies that were still lying just outside the door.

He pounded down the stairs. "Kate?"

His voice sounded strange. It hadn't sounded like that since he'd been told that Shannon and Kelly -

"Kate?" He hit the bottom stair and looked around the room. The dead terrorist was still by the window.

That was it.

No Kate.

No Tony.

"DiNozzo, McGee, sitrep!" Gibbs barked into the comm.

Nothing but static.

He scanned the room again, taking a few steps into it this time. She had to be here. They had to be here. Somewhere.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started hitting numbers frantically. He didn't bother with greeting the agent on the other side. "I need someone tracking a sniper from this location, now." He gave them Ari's description. "And I need Dr. Mallard here five minutes ago." He snapped the phone shut. He couldn't risk any other backup. Not if his kids weren't their usual selves.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket mechanically.

McGee had needed help. Kate would have insisted on going with Tony to help him, even if she wasn't really feeling up to it. They were stubborn that way, like him.

Next floor down then. Maybe outside.

He went quieter this times, just in case there were still hostiles on the loose. Quiet, but still fast, because his kids were in trouble, and he wasn't there. He needed to be there. He wasn't going to leave them behind to get hurt. Not again.

_"Don't go, Daddy, please don't go."_

He forced his hands to stop shaking by gripping his gun tighter.

He burst onto the ground floor and turned quickly so he could cover the whole room with his gun.

A gun had risen to challenge his, and he almost fired, but he held his fire at the last minute. He lowered his gun in relief. "Tony."

Tony stood tense in the back left corner, legs braced defensively and gun up. Tim, looking very small and very young, was curled up behind him. Gibbs could barely see him.

Tony relaxed. "Gibbs," he said. Relief was evident in his voice. "McGeek here got a bit of salt on him. I tried to brush it off with a scrap of cloth I found but I couldn't quite get all of it, and my comm got hit in the fight so I couldn't call you."

Gibbs holstered his gun and ran over. "Good work, Tony." The agent stood aside to let him pass. He knelt down next to Tim. "Hey, kid," he said gently. "Where'd you get hit?"

Tim held out his arm.

"I see it. I gotcha, kid. You tell me when I've gotten all of it, all right?"

"He just got the edge of it, but that was bad enough," Tony said quietly from beside him. "We managed to get all of them, though. What about our sniper?"

"Got backup on it." Gibbs kept brushing at Tim's arm. He thought he had most of it now. Some of the pain was fading from the kid's face.

"Good." Tony looked around. "Where's Kate?"

Gibbs kept working. "I can't see her," he finally admitted. "Your Sight's better. I need you to go find her." He should have said that from the first. Why hadn't he?

There was an answer lurking there, but he decided he didn't have time to look at it just yet.

Tony had taken off before the words "On it, Boss," were all the way out of his mouth.

Tim let out a long breath.

"Better?" Gibbs asked, voice still gently.

Tim nodded. He wouldn't meet Gibbs's eyes. "Thanks."

"Hey." He caught Tim's chin and lifted it up. "You got hurt. It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all do sometimes. You dealt with it. That's what matters."

Tim nodded again.

"Good." Gibbs pushed himself to his feet. Ducky should be there soon.

"I'll go help look for Kate," Tim said.

"Be careful." The words were out before he could stop them. He didn't usually say that. It was understood in their line of work.

He went to go wait outside so that Ducky would know where to pull up at.

Ducky had experience with this. He'd know what to do to get Kate back.

The van finally got there ten minutes later. He explained what had happened to Ducky in clipped sentences as he led him toward the stairs.

Tony and Tim were both checking the roof frantically. Tony jogged over to him as soon as he saw the door open.

"Boss, I can't find her."

Gibbs couldn't remember ever seeing that expression in Tony's eyes. Not when he'd dug up those ever so small bones in the hotel garden. Not when he'd told Tony that his father wasn't ever going to come. Not when Tony'd seen his first salting.

Never.

Ducky was giving him another sort of look. A look that spoke to a long life and a growing weariness with it.

"Jethro," he began.

Gibbs turned to him. "No," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not doing this again, Duck."

"Again?"

Gibbs ignored him and stepped forward. "You bring back ghosts for a living. How do I get her back, Duck?"

"Jethro - "

He grabbed Ducky's arm. "Tell me," he snapped.

Ducky sighed. "There is a slim chance - very slim, mind - that she might have retreated to her bones. There's a reason you threatened to pack young Anthony's grave with salt when you first met, yes? It's a last measure to ensure that a ghost is gone. If you don't, there's a small chance they might remain, but, Jethro, it's a one in a million chance under these circumstances - "

Gibbs let go of his arm and turned to Tony. "Where was she buried?"

"Indianapolis. Crown Hill Cemetery," Tony said instantly. "We were playing Truth or Dare once and it came up."

"McGee, get me tickets there now," Gibbs ordered. "Duck, what would I need?"

Ducky shrugged helplessly. "Blood, I suppose. I can loan you some from my stores, but Jethro, you have a very high profile case to clean up. The director is not going to allow you to simply fly off to Indiana!"

Gibbs was already on his way down the stairs. Ducky followed him. He could hear Tim already on the phone, arranging things for him.

"And what will you tell the agency about Kate in the interim?"

Gibbs didn't know. He didn't particularly care.

Tony had followed them down the stairs. "I'll tell the director Kate's in critical care at the hospital," he said. "He's not the visiting type. He won't ask which one. And I can handle the scene, Duck. Gibbs is down as Kate's next of kin, so he'd be needed at the hospital."

Gibbs nodded once and headed for the car. He had a plane to catch.

 

Waiting for a plane was infuriating enough under normal circumstances. Under these, it was excruciating.

Gibbs used the time to make some calls and arrange for the necessary equipment to dig up Kate's coffin to be at the cemetery. The good news was that the workers had already been planning to be at the cemetery that day anyway, so he managed to avoid that bit of hassle. They could just do double the work.

He'd have to do some fast talking once he was there, but the words "federal agent" and "emergency ghost situation" would hopefully leave them with impression that he was acting under the umbrella of the 1957 Ghost Act.

If that didn't work, there was always his gun.

He glared at everyone who tried to talk to him on the plane, which earned him an empty seat next to him. He couldn't say he minded.

"You're being rude, Gibbs."

Kate?

He spun as much as the seatbelt would allow. He couldn't see her.

"Guess you really are going blind, old man." Her voice had a slightly mocking edge to it he wasn't used to.

Then again, he'd let her get hurt.

He heard a sigh. "Sorry, Gibbs. That was out of line. Still. What are you going to tell the boys if you can't get me back?"

"I'll get you back," he vowed under his breath. "I'll get you stronger in no time, Kate."

"Will you?"

She didn't say another word for the rest of the flight.

Assuming, of course, that she'd been there in the first place.

It had felt like he was going mad in those hazy days right after he got the news about Shannon and Kelly. He couldn't do that again.

Not again. Never again.

He ignored protocol and was the first out the plane when it landed. He grabbed a taxi from the airport and resisted the temptation to grab the steering wheel from the driver when he wasn't going fast enough.

"Calm down, Gibbs. The last thing we need is you getting hurt."

He looked around wildly, but he still couldn't see her.

"It's not like I'm going anywhere."

He'd calm down when she was safely back home, and he'd put a bullet through Ari's head.

The driver didn't seem to have heard anything, but that meant nothing. Gibbs watched the streets blur by and tapped the seat impatiently. They were getting close now.

"Er, Gibbs? I changed my mind." Kate sounded decidedly nervous now. "Maybe you should hurry just a little bit."

"Kate?" Gibbs growled, ignoring the driver's startled look.

No answer.

His gut was screaming at him. "Go faster," he ordered the driver.

"But - "

He flashed his badge and a wad of bills. He wasn't sure which convinced the man to hit the gas pedal, and he didn't much care.

It was a grey, drizzly day in the city. The parking lot for the cemetery was almost empty.

Gibbs was out of the car before it had quite stopped rolling. He flung some cash at the man, threw his bag over his shoulder, and took off running.

The cab had stopped in the parking lot by the funeral home. The graves were further up the hill. He could see the digging equipment already.

He had also seen the van in the parking lot. More importantly, he had seen the melodramatic logo on the side, done in blood red letters that seemed to drip down the van's white paint.

Not the same hunters that had gone after Tim, but hunters all the same.

_There's already one grave being dug up there today . . ._

He didn't know specifically where Kate was buried. He'd thought he would have time to look around.

Now he just ran towards the equipment and prayed.

"Gibbs!" Kate's voice was pained and scared.

_"Don't go, Daddy, please don't go!"_

It was a long run up the hill. He couldn't push himself fast enough. He could see the figures moving around, though. He could see that the equipment was still and that the hunters were moving in.

It might not be Kate's grave. There was no reason to assume that it was Kate's grave. Never make assumptions -

"Gibbs, please!"

"Stop!" he roared. He pulled his gun out of his holster as he left the pavement and hit the grass. "Stop!"

_You gonna shoot a man for doing his job, probie? You don't even know who they're planning on salting yet._

He could imagine Franks' voice, clear as day, but for once he didn't pay it any mind.

You did what you had to for family.

The men - and one woman, he could see now - had paused in their work a moment after hearing him shout, but he couldn't tell if he had been too late.

He ran the last few steps before pulling to a halt and glaring at everyone there. His gun wasn't pointed at any of them, exactly, but it was out and ready.

He pulled out his badge with one hand, gun still in the other. "NCIS. Special Agent Gibbs."

The hunters relaxed. The blonde woman stepped forward with a cautious smile and held out her hand. "Special Agent Gibbs. Your voice sounded different on the phone."

Gibbs ignored the hand. "I didn't call you."

The woman put her hand down. Her forehead had wrinkled. "What do you mean? We got a call a few hours ago from a Special Agent Gibbs of NCIS saying that a ghost had been causing trouble and asking us to take care of it from this end to save him a trip. All the codes were in order, and so was the money we were wired."

Gibbs forced himself to look at the tombstone.

_Caitlyn Todd._

_Beloved Daughter._

He didn't have to look at the dates.

He couldn't force himself to look in the coffin. Not yet.

"What did the voice sound like?" Gibbs demanded.

The woman frowned. Her coworkers had edged up behind her protectively. "Young. Cultured. A hint of an accent."

Not enough to prove it was Ari, even if this were the kind of thing he could file a charge about.

But his gut knew.

"What's going on?" The woman was starting to sound frustrated.

Gibbs ignored her and stalked over to the coffin. He took a deep breath before he forced himself to look in.

If a coffin was good, it could take an adult human years to decompose. Children didn't take quite as long, and Kate had been in there awhile. It was down to a skeleton in a pretty red dress. There was a bow laying beside the skull on the cushion.

Was that what Kelly looked like now?

Gibbs fought the urge to gag. He knelt beside the coffin to look closer. His knees slid a little against the damp grass.

Fine white grains of salt lay scattered over the bones.

"We were just getting started when you got here," one of the men volunteered.

"Is there a problem?" the woman added cautiously.

"Yeah, there's a problem," he said slowly.

He'd never put up his gun. His hand tightened on it now. It would be easy. So easy.

Just like Mexico.

But Kate had been talking to him, hadn't she? She wasn't gone. Not yet.

"Get out," he ordered them. "The digging crew can stay. The rest of you I want gone. Now."

He jammed his gun back into its holster reluctantly. The bag slid over his shoulder and onto the grass.

The hunters were protesting, but he ignored them. He had more important things to do.

A cloth first. He had to brush off the salt. Every last grain.

He moved slowly, like he did when he was sanding the boat. Infinite care, infinite gentleness. Like he was brushing her hair instead of brushing off her bones.

His eyes weren't as good as they once were. He went over everything three times, just to be sure, and called in one of the bewildered digging crew to check.

Spray bottle next. Ducky had loaded it full for him and told him that if this wasn't sufficient, nothing would be.

It would be enough.

It had to be.

Twist the cap. Start near the head. Work his way down, then back up again. Focus on the head and the chest.

One. Two. Three.

He lost count of the number of squirts by the time the bottle was halfway empty.

Why wasn't Kate saying anything anymore? Had she said something after the hunters stopped working? She had, hadn't she?

Three quarters empty.

She'd always been stubborn. She just needed more, just a bit more -

"Come on, Kate. Come on, Katydid. Don't do this to me. You can beat this. Come on. Come on!"

The bottle let loose a few straggling drops.

It wouldn't spray out any more.

He unscrewed the nozzle and held the bottle out directly over where her heart would have been. He held it there stubbornly until the last drop had fallen.

He still couldn't see her.

He could call Ducky, see what else there was to do.

_If this doesn't work, Jethro, there's nothing else._

Maybe she just needed a bit more blood. He had his knife, he could donate a bit -

_If you salt the bones, that's it, probie. They're gone for good._

What had Ducky said, right before he got on the plane?

_Whatever else happens, Jethro, promise me you won't forget you still have two boys waiting for you back home._

"Kate?" he whispered. His hand hovered his pocket where he kept his knife.

One sign. All he needed was one sign, and he'd flood the coffin with oceans of blood if that was what it took.

The sun was getting low in the sky. The digging crew was getting uneasy.

The bones lay unmoving and empty of any sign of life.

His phone rang in his pocket, unexpected and jarringly loud.

He pulled it out and snapped it open. "Gibbs." His voice came out choked and garbled.

Tony was on the other hand. "Boss, please tell me you've got Kate. Abby got shot at, there's some sort of new director here trying to tell us that Ari didn't do it, and Ducky left two hours ago and isn't answering his phone."

Gibbs took a shuddering breath as cold rage pulsed through him, and he pushed himself to his feet.

"Boss? Are you still there? Please tell me you're still there."

"Yeah, Tony, I'm right here."

"And Kate?" Tony's voice broke a little.

Gibbs closed his eyes and, for the second time in his life, forced himself to walk away from a headstone he would give anything to change the name on. "Tony, listen to me. You and Tim stay in the building and watch Abby, all right? Whatever happens, do not leave the building. I need you safe."

"Kate?" Tony asked again.

He should be there to break news like this. He needed to be there to protect who he still had left.

He'd left his bag. Instead of going back for it, he broke into a job as he headed for the road.

He had failed, and Tony had a right to know. "Tony," he began brokenly.

"No," Tony insisted. "No, she's too stubborn."

He said the only thing he could. "He's not going to walk away from this, Tony, I don't care what the director says." Of all the times to get a new one. Morrow would have stayed out of his way. He didn't know what this new one would do. "I'll get him."

"Like you got my dad," Tony whispered brokenly.

Gibbs's grip tightened on the phone. The old guilt twisted under the burden of the new one.

He shoved it aside. Not now. He was working on that, but it would have to wait.

"Not like that," he vowed.

Tony wouldn't understand all the message, but he'd get at least part of it.

Not an arrest that politics could mess up. Not a trial that fancy lawyers could manipulate.

Not when Ari had taken his daughter.

(Breathe, breathe, remember to breathe.)

Not when he'd shot at Abby.

(Had to protect her, needed to be there.)

Not when Ducky was missing.

(Don't think about it, don't think about what could have happened, just get there.)

Not when he could still lose his boys -

The jog turned into a run. The taxi was long gone, but he'd already ended his call with Tony, and started dialing for one before his brain had registered the need.

No arrest. No trial.

Just a bullet, and Ari's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was reading this story instead of writing it, I would have four questions right now. Why was Kate killed off? Why the false hope with the bones thing? What's up with the reference to Tony's dad? Is Ziva showing up in the next chapter, and, if so, how's the story going to interpret/treat her?
> 
> I killed Kate off because I had no other choice. Which sounds melodramatic but is actually true. Some authors can tweak their stories to their hearts' desires. Me . . . I get an idea, and I might can change the color of Kate's swimsuit, but the deaths have to happen, or the story just won't work. If this story was going to go beyond this chapter, Kate had to die.
> 
> I'm truly sorry if this chapter upset you. I tried to figure some way around it, but it really did have to happen this way. I hope you'll be willing to stick around despite that.
> 
> The false hope thing would have really upset me as a reader, so I won't be surprised if some of you are yelling at me right now, but I did have a really good reason for doing that.
> 
> Unfortunately, explaining my reasoning would lead to at least vague spoilers, so I'll make you a deal: If it really bothered you and you need to know, mention it in a review, and I'll do my best to explain without giving away too much. Otherwise, just trust that yes, I did have a reason.
> 
> Tony's dad: No, you did not miss something in previous chapters. This is the first hint of something that will be developed later on.
> 
> Ziva: Originally, she was going to show up in this chapter, but it was getting so long that I decided to save that part for the next update.
> 
> Ziva was, to my knowledge, the most divisive character on the show. Some hate her. Some adore her.
> 
> My own feelings about the character are both complicated and not really relevant. What is relevant is how she'll appear in this story.
> 
> No, this is not going to be Tiva. That would be gross.
> 
> No, they're not going to forget all about Kate.
> 
> On the other hand, I'm also not going to gleefully impale Ziva's head on a stick.
> 
> In other words, I'll try to treat her fairly, but I would welcome your thoughts on the character. If you have further concerns about her, I'll be happy to send you an outline of the other characters' reactions to her throughout the story, but it will, by nature, be at least vaguely spoilery, so be sure you really want it before you ask for it.
> 
> Ziva's actually already come up in the story once. Virtual cookies to anyone who knows where!
> 
> And, er. Sorry. Again.
> 
> Crown Hill Cemetery is a real place, by the way.
> 
> Chapter includes references to "S.W.A.K.", "Twilight", "Kill Ari Part One", "Kill Ari Part 2", and "Requiem".


	9. Ziva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahab's on the hunt.

By the time Gibbs made it down to Abby's lab, the glass in the windows was being replaced by bullet proof panes and Abby was two seconds away from biting off the head of a worker who had asked if she wanted them coated with a salt blend.

"Gibbs!" Abby tore herself away from the worker to fling herself at Gibbs. He caught a brief glimpse of red rimmed eyes and a complete lack of makeup before Abby was clinging to him.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and jerked his head at the worker who took the hint and scurried out. He scanned the room and only relaxed when he saw Tony and Tim were both there.

Tony had shifted into one of those fancy suits he wore when he wanted there to be no doubt whatsoever that he was a competent, very adult, federal agent. He'd sprung to his feet as soon as he saw Gibbs and was standing stiffly, almost formally, by Tim.

Tim was looking shaky, and he kept darting little glances at Tony like he wasn't sure how he was supposed to be acting and was hoping for a clue.

He patted Abby's back a few times and let her go.

"Tony?" he asked carefully. "Tim?"

He didn't miss the way Tony shifted in front of Tim protectively or the way he straightened before beginning to give his report.

"I was down here with Abby when a shot was fired last night. I pushed her to the floor. She's fine, but the window was shattered. Abby was upset, so I took the liberty of ordering bullet resistant glass for the replacement panes." He took a deep breath. "We've stayed in the building as instructed, sir, and I asked Palmer to do the same, just in case."

It was never a good sign when Tony called him 'sir'. "Tony."

"The new director's name is Jenny Shepherd. She seems to know you." Tony's voice went up a bit with curiosity at the last bit.

Jenny. With all that had happened, it took a second for the name to click.

Jenny. Paris. Getting arrested.

He shoved it all to the side. He could deal with her later. Kate first. Ari first. After that, he'd just have to make sure she kept her distance. He couldn't afford to let anyone get too close. Not with his three -

Two. His two kids to protect.

"McGeek here was working on tracking down Ducky's cell phone when you showed up. Oh, and Officer Ziva David of Mossad is here. The director wants us to work with her."

It was amazing how much disgust Tony could convey without his tone ever verging on disrespectful.

"Officer David seems to think Ari's an innocent victim in all this."

Tim spoke up for the first time, even if it was in a low mutter. "And she tried to sit at Kate's desk."

Tony edged even further in front of him. "That too," he agreed. "Abby offered to help me hide her body, but she's from Mossad's ghost division, so getting rid of her might be a bit harder than we thought."

Gibbs waited him out patiently. "That it?" he asked finally.

"We'll get back to work right away," Tony said quickly. "I'm sure McGee's got a hit by now, and Abby was working on the ballistics for Kate - " He cut off and swallowed hard. "I'll get back to work now."

"Not what I meant." He started to walk over to them but stopped when he noticed Tony subtly shoving Tim ever further behind him.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He didn't know what DiNozzo Sr. had done after Tony's mother died, but it was becoming increasingly clear that he needed to answer for it.

"You did good," he said softly.

Tony shook his head jerkily, eyes wide with confusion. "I - "

"You kept Tim and Abby safe. Kept Palmer safe too. You did good." He looked into his eyes steadily before slowly reaching out an arm.

Tony flinched away from it instinctively. Gibbs made sure to keep moving slowly and in his line of sight as he reached out and squeezed his shoulder softly. "You too, Tim. Now go track down Ducky. Tell me when you've got something."

It wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to take them somewhere safe and keep them there until Ari was safely dead and he'd eased the fear back out of both of them. He wanted to be able to find the words to reassure Tony that no matter what happened, Gibbs would never turn into Sr. To tell Tim that he wasn't the Admiral.

He wanted Kate back.

But he couldn't have that.

So he watched Tony's shoulders sag in relief with a sinking heart and kept watching until they'd disappeared into the elevator.

He turned back to Abby who was watching and worrying her lip. "What've you got for me, Abbs?" he asked quietly.

Abby held up an evidence bag that held scraps of what looked like black balloon material. "I know what killed Kate," she offered miserably. "It's a new ghost hunting weapon. He must have been specifically targeting Kate."

"Unless he'd figured out the truth about Tim and Tony."

"Yeah. Um," she pulled up a picture on her computer screen. "It's called the SaltLauncher. It's from one of those new startup companies founded by people who watched way too many horror films as kids. It started out as a really amateur weapon, almost a toy really, like a water gun that came with it's own supply of salt water in these tiny water balloon pellets it would launch. The idea got some attention though, and the company was bought up by one of the major players in paranormal technology. They changed it from this - " A picture of a colored plastic gun spun on the screen. "To this." A black gun that resembled a sniper rifle took its place. "The pellets are designed to explode on the slightest impact so that even if the ghost isn't completely solid, the pellets will still burst. When they do, they release a compound of some sort. Exactly what's in it is a trade secret, but I've got Major Mass Spectrometer working on it as we speak." She spun to point at it. "It's not just salt water though. It's something seriously nasty. I watched a demo video and," she shuddered. "These things are bad news, Gibbs."

"A demo video?" he demanded.

Abby winced. "They managed to corner a ghost in a salt trap and then they, you know, experimented on him with this."

"That's legal?"

Abby nodded miserably.

Gibbs stared at her in incredulous fury for a minute before shaking his head. "Give me some good news, Abbs."

"Well, it's still a really rare weapon 'cause the pellets are expensive to make. I can determine what gun this came from and probably trace it back to Ari. But if I do, people will wonder why he brought a ghost rifle for Kate." She looked at him apologetically. "I'm trying, Gibbs."

He kissed her forehead. "I know. Keep at it." He headed for the door.

"Ooh, Gibbs! If the director won't give you the go ahead to shoot Ari, I can totally help you hide the body!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Abbs."

He'd keep it in mind, but if it came down to it, he'd make sure the only person going down for this was himself.

 

"Boss, I've got something," Tim said as soon as he entered the bullpen. "Ducky's cellphone is . . . Here." He scribbled the address down on a post-it note and handed it to Gibbs.

Gibbs grabbed it and scanned the bullpen on the way toward the elevator. "Where's Tony?"

Tim winced. "He's, um, following Officer David. He thought she might lead him to Ari."

Gibbs turned around. "He left the building? And you let him?"

"It's Tony!" Tim protested. "How was I supposed to stop him?"

"Track his cell phone now," Gibbs growled. "Call the second you know where he is."

The elevator doors slid closed behind him as he punched the numbers into his own phone. He held it to his ear, still seething.

"Tony."

"Oh, hey, Boss." The line was crackled with static that distorted the words. "I'm just hunting down a - " He said something, probably 'lead', but Gibbs couldn't tell through the static. "Any news on the Duck?"

Gibbs ignored his commentary. "Get back here now," he growled.

"Sorry, Boss, can't quite seem to hear you through the static. Gotta go - I think Ziva's about to make a drop off."

The line cut off. The only thing that kept Gibbs from flinging his phone at the wall as he exited the elevator was the fact that he needed it so that Tim could tell him where Tony was, and he could drag him back.

He'd lost two kids already. That was more than enough for one lifetime.

 

Ducky's cell phone lay abandoned beside Gerald's in the park. Gibbs resisted the urge to smash both and did the only thing he could do: protect who he could.

His car screeched to a stop outside the hotel Tony was waiting outside. For a split second, Tony looked like he was seriously considering ignoring it, but Gibbs' expression must have been enough to convince him of the stupidity of that idea.

Tony ran from his shelter under the awning through the rain and ducked into the car. "Hey, Boss." He flashed a smile at him. It was his nervous one, the one he used when he knew he was in trouble and didn't really think he could talk his way out of it, but he was going to try anyway. "Sorry about the call earlier, I think the rain's messing with the reception somehow - " He broke off as the scent wafting through the car finally caught up with him. He shot Gibbs a wounded look. "That's just cruel, Boss. Pizza? Really?"

Gibbs pulled the box out of the back. "Extra cheese, pepperoni, and lots of sausage." He flipped it open and held it out to him.

Tony breathed the smell in longingly. "That's torture, Boss. This is because I followed Ziva, isn't it?"

"I don't make a habit of rewarding people for disobeying orders, DiNozzo," Gibbs said dryly.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed. "Rewarding?"

Gibbs plopped the pizza box down onto his lap. "Found a place that sells it salt free."

Tony gaped at him. "Why?"

A woman who matched the description of the one who'd taken the documents Ziva had left at the drop-off walked out to her car. Gibbs kept an eye on her as he said, "Don't know. I think the owner's some kind of health nut."

Tony still hadn't started on that pizza. The woman started up her car and pulled out of her parking space.

"You know what I meant!"

Gibbs judged there was enough distance between them now and started after her. Tony was too distracted to protest that there was no one there to watch Ziva.

After everything they'd been through these past few days, he'd figured they all needed something to help them through it, and he'd thought Tony would appreciate the gesture. He wasn't about to tell him that, though. "If you don't want it, I'll eat it."

Tony pulled the pizza closer protectively. "I'm good, Boss." He pulled out a slice and lowered it slowly into his mouth, savoring it dramatically. "It's even better than I rem - Boss!"

Ducky's Morgan was rattling towards them. Gibbs slammed on the brakes and bolted out of the car, gun pointed at the driver's side. "Ari! Get out with your hands up!"

Tony was out a split second later. The pizza box had no doubt been dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

Ducky emerged slowly from the car. "Put the gun down, Jethro! Ari's long gone, I'm afraid."

"Gerald?"

"At the Navy Yard by now, I'd imagine. Ari let him go."

Gibbs holstered his gun and glared furiously down the street to where the woman he'd been following had disappeared to. There's be no catching her now.

"You all right, Duck?"

Ducky shrugged. "Quite irritated and I fear the Morgan's engine may never be the same, but well otherwise."

Tony walked forward as he holstered his own weapon. "Did Ari say anything?"

Ducky hesitated. "Nothing of importance."

His tone caught Gibbs's attention. "Duck?"

"In terms of finding him, nothing at all, Jethro, but he did seem to draw quite a few parallels between you and his father, whoever he might be, something that's quite speaking psychologically."

Gibbs didn't care what was going through Ari's head unless it was a bullet. He stormed back to his car.

Tony slid in next to him and retrieved his pizza. The slice he'd been working on had fallen to the floor. Tony considered it for a moment before shrugging and eating it anyway.

If it had been Kelly, Gibbs wouldn't have allowed it, but it wasn't like germs were an issue for Tony.

The reminder didn't help his mood any and he slammed down on the gas a little harder than was strictly necessary.

"There's a chance Ziva's still at the hotel," Tony said through a mouthful of pizza. "It might not be too late to tail her."

Gibbs ignored him and turned the car towards the Navy Yard.

"You're going to have to let us get back to doing our jobs at some point, Gibbs."

"You never should have been doing this job in the first place." He saw the stricken expression on Tony's face reflected in the glass and amended the statement. "None of you should have."

"You told Director Morrow we were the best team you'd ever worked with."

The road ahead was clear enough that Gibbs felt comfortable turning to glare at him. "I don't care how good you are, kids don't belong in the field! I should have been keeping you safe, not exposing you to that kind of risk."

"We asked you to," Tony pointed out. "And it's not like our lives were all sunshine and rainbows before this." He paused. "Existences. Whatever. You know, that question was actually explored really well in the 1997 movie _After_ \- " He cut himself off. "You know what, never mind. The point is, McGeek had hunters after him, Kate was one above average secret service agent away from being salted, and if any other agent had come to investigate the murder at the Maui hotel, I'd be gone now."

"So that makes this okay?" Gibbs demanded.

"It makes it more complicated than you're making it sound!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tony flinched back as though surprised by his own force. His next words were softer. "Look, I know you're thinking that if you hadn't taken us into the field, she wouldn't be gone now, but you can't know that. And even if she was safe, what about Gerald? Who would have taken a bullet for him? What about you?"

Gibbs didn't give two cents about what might have happened to him.

Judging by the look on Tony's face, he realized it.

What kind of a man was he that he couldn't even protect his own family? He hadn't just failed once, he'd messed up his second chance too.

Gibbs drove the rest of the way in silence. Tony seethed quietly over Gibbs's disregard for his own life beside him.

"How's the pizza?" Gibbs asked by way of peace offering when he pulled into the parking garage.

"Fine." Tony grabbed the box before slamming his door shut.

"You didn't eat all of it," Gibbs pointed out as they made their way toward the elevator.

Small talk. Gibbs hated it, but it was the closest he could get to an apology for something he wasn't about to change.

Tony gave in and forgave him like he always did. "I saved some for the McGeek. He could use some cheering up." He looked down at the greasy box with its bright colors. "I should tell him that. Here, McGee, have a pizza. That'll make up for losing a si- " He caught himself. "Kate."

"Sister," Gibbs said quietly as they boarded the elevator. "Nothing wrong with the word, Tony. Nothing wrong with grieving either."

"Depends on how you do it," Tony muttered darkly.

The doors slid open before Gibbs could demand an explanation for that statement.

Abby was huddled next to Tim at his desk. Gerald must have gone home once he got word that Ducky was fine.

More concerning were the two women talking by the window.

Tony followed his glance before stiffening in surprise. "Guess we didn't need to follow Ziva after all, Boss. She's the dark haired one there. The one she's talking to is - "

"Jen," Gibbs said.

Jenny turned to look at him. "Jethro. I'd been wondering where you were hiding."

'Jethro?' Tony mouthed at Abby.

' _Jen?_ ' Tim mouthed back.

Gibbs ignored the looks he was getting. "Not hiding. Just have a scumbag to track down."

Ziva strolled forward. "That 'scumbag' you have been tailing is a Mossad officer. He is not responsible for the death of Agent Todd."

Agent Todd.

Jenny was saying placating things about evidence and proof, but Gibbs was just trying to fit together the way the Mossad officer had said 'Agent Todd' and Kate.

Special Agent Todd was a name on paperwork that he skimmed before signing if he bothered to look at it all.

Kate was a sister bickering with Tony over the proper way to cook steak. Kate was a girl with a streak of mischief in her eyes as she played a prank on Tim. Kate was Katydid. Kate was a shriek in the backyard as a friendly water gun fight turned into all out war.

Just an adapted water gun when all was said and done. Wasn't that what Abby had said?

And this was the war.

"Agent Gibbs would like to bring Haswari in for questioning, that's all."

"I'd like to bring him into _autopsy_ ," Gibbs growled.

Jen shot him a look. He didn't care.

"Ari is innocent in this," Ziva insisted.

"If he's innocent, then he doesn't want me dead."

"Yes."

Gibbs spread his hands. "So, we use me as bait. If he takes it, you shoot him. If he doesn't, we'll know he's innocent."

"No!" Tony had sat down at his desk so that he could sneak looks at them without being obvious about it, but he'd shot to his feet at that idea. "Boss, it's way too dangerous."

Gibbs kept his eyes locked on Ziva.

She nodded. "There is no danger. Ari is innocent."

"Boss," Tony pleaded.

Gibbs looked over at them. Tim and Abby looked panicked. Tony wasn't far from it.

"You keep them safe," he ordered Tony. "All of you, stay here tonight." Not at the house. Ari might think to look for them there. He'd think of here too, but NCIS headquarters had far better security than his house.

_"Gibbs, please!"_ He could still hear her voice echoing in his head.

"On my way, Kate," he muttered as he stalked past the startled director. He rested his hand on his gun. "On my way."

 

The rooftop was quiet the next morning when he went to lay flowers on it. Ziva had looked at him oddly when he'd chosen not roses or something traditional, but a brightly colored bunch of tulips with a large, plastic ladybug holding the ribbon together.

It wasn't a katydid, but it was the best he could do.

The corpses were long gone from the roof. The bloodstains were still there, though.

Gibbs wound his way through the crates. He was wearing a bullet proof jacket, but his head remained exposed.

The bait was never entirely safe.

He kept an eye out, less for Ari, who he knew he wouldn't see, than for his kids. He didn't trust Tony and Tim not to defy his orders and show up despite his threats of going to the new director and asking her to assign them to permanent desk duty if he saw hide or hair of them.

Tim had looked cowed, but Tony had looked mutinous. Kate would have been somewhere in between. Obedient, but still protesting.

He knelt down on the same spot he had when he'd lost her and laid the flowers where her heart would have been. He waited there for a few minutes, senses humming.

No bullets cracked the air.

Ari had been too smart for the first part of the trap.

Well, that was what the second part was for.

Kneeling there, he could still hear her screaming. Could still see her writhing in pain.

He could have left the flowers on the roof to complete the ruse, just in case someone was watching. He could have left them there as a ward against those screams.

But he had no intention of ever coming back, and he didn't like the thought of those flowers being left to wilt and rot with no one there to see them, much less care.

He took them with him and nodded across the roof at Ziva to make sure she was ready before he headed home.

 

He knew Ari was in the house the moment he stepped in it. That didn't stop him from heading to the basement, flowers still in hand.

He went straight to the back to set them down. No need for them to be a casualty in this.

He checked his rifle case, but he already knew what he would find in it.

Nothing.

"It is a very good gun. You have kept it in excellent condition."

Gibbs turned slowly. Not surprised, just deliberate in his movements so that he wouldn't scare Ari into shooting too soon.

"You never know when you might meet someone whose thought processes would be improved with a bit of lead to interrupt them."

Ari smiled and stepped out of the shadows that lurked in the corners of his basement. The gun was held almost casually in his hands. "I think that is the most I have ever heard you say at one time, Agent Gibbs. In your terseness, at least, you differ from my father."

"That what this is all about?" Gibbs asked, slowly circling to the right. "Problems with your dad?"

"Of whom you remind me, considerably," Ari agreed. "You are both quite ruthless men." He circled with Gibbs, the gun always pointed at his head. "You are both convinced you are always in the right." Ari nodded to two pictures sitting on a sawhorse that Gibbs hadn't noticed before. "And neither of you should have had daughters."

Gibbs looked at the twin pictures of Kelly and Kate as he put his back to the stairs. Ari had taken them from his bedroom.

He had never wanted the man dead more.

"Quite the interesting house you have here, Agent Gibbs. I wonder what they'll make of it when they come to find your body?"

"Guess I'll just have to put away a few things when they come for yours."

Ari laughed. "You should have called in backup, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs slid down the concrete side to the stairs onto a box. "I did."

Ziva's bullet lodged itself in Ari's brain.

He watched her carefully as she made her way down the stairs. "You okay?"

"I am not yet blood mad, if that is what you are asking," she said stiffly. "I know that this is a concept you Americans find difficult to grasp." A few tears had made their way past her stubborn mask and were leaking down her face.

Gibbs looked at the body slumped on his floor. There was no shifting of a spirit that he could see, but he wasn't risking it. "You might want to stay back."

Ziva flinched as his salt pack hit the body.

"You weren't just his handler," Gibbs said quietly.

She sniffed. "No. He was my half-brother."

"So what he said about your father?"

Ziva shrugged. It was a hitching, painful looking motion instead of a casual one. "I had a sister. We both died. I came back, she did not. My father did not visit Tali's grave." She paused. "And he will not look at me."

He could see the girl she must have been when she died in her eyes, but she was too far buried for him to reach, and she wasn't his to save.

He nodded to her once and headed up the stairs, palming the photos on his way and praying she was too rattled to ask about them.

Before he shut the door to the basement, he could just hear her beginning to sing.

 

Ducky had let it be known that the body was too badly damaged for viewing. Kate's casket was closed and loaded with rocks to add weight.

Gibbs had been listed as her next of kin, so it had been up to him to make the decisions about the funeral. Up to him to choose a coffin since he didn't have time to carve one. Up to him to find a graveyard in D.C. that was close enough that he wouldn't feel like he was abandoning her.

He wasn't sure which funeral was harder: Shannon and Kelly's because he'd lost two of his girls at once and because they'd been his for longer, or Kate's, because at least at Shannon and Kelly's he'd been able to grieve as he wanted without anyone batting an eye.

As far as most of the people attending Kate's funeral were concerned, he had been her boss and the fact that he was her next of kin was a sign of her isolation. He couldn't let go of his stoic mask as he had when he'd lost his girls, because people would ask questions and make the sort of assumptions that would lead to him shooting them.

He couldn't see her. He couldn't let out a howl of rage and grief. He just had to lay his flowers down on the coffin and go stand by what was left of his family.

Abby cried freely, and Jimmy never stopped sniffling. Ducky, head bowed, patted Abby's back slowly.

Tony and Tim both took their cue from him and kept their eyes dry. He hoped that they did it for the same reason he did, and not because they thought he would accuse them of weakness.

Their eyes were dry, but the looks of devastation in them were all the greater for it.

Abby played a jazz song when it was time to walk away.

Gibbs forced himself to walk forward.

It took everything in him not to look back.

 

People kept wanting to talk.

The legal department wanted to talk about Kate's will. She had saved more of her salary than she'd spent, and apparently she'd left it all to him with a note about "repaying his kindness".

Jenny wanted to talk about how he'd made the openly curious lawyer cry. Gibbs was of the opinion that he was close enough to the edge without people prying into something they had no business in and that the director should just be happy he hadn't shot anybody yet.

Personnel wanted to talk about replacing Kate.

Maintenance wanted to talk about the hole he'd punched through the wall as soon as he'd heard the word "replacing".

The shrink they brought in wanted to talk about what was going on in his team's heads, something that had made Gibbs grouchy on principle even before his team had consisted of dead neglected kids pretending to be thirty-something federal agents and who had the issues to prove it.

_Gibbs_ wanted to talk about why his kids kept acting like he was about to get drunk and start throwing things, but he knew that conversation would ultimately end with himself facing murder charges so he left it alone.

Abby wanted to talk about the information she'd dug up for him on certain Indianapolis hunters, and that, Gibbs was more than willing to discuss.

There was music in the lab again when he walked in it, but the song blaring from Abby's speakers was one of her favorite comfort tunes instead of something experimental.

Pop ups filled with text were layered on the large screen on her wall. Gibbs handed Abby a Caff-POW! and kissed her hair before strolling over to it. "What've you got for me, Abbs?"

"The hunters you met are part of a small chain business called "The Expulsionists". They've got a reputation for being cheap but slightly destructive, and they have a no appeasement policy. They don't even _try_ to lay the ghosts to rest, they just go straight for the kill, which has led to a lawsuit in their Chicago office." Abby pulled up the relevant pop-up and stuck her tongue out at the screen. "Serves them right. They have done some good work," she admitted grudgingly. "They took down a gang of blood mad ghosts haunting a run down neighborhood last year." A newspaper clipping was enlarged on the screen before she exited out of it. "They're up to date on both their rent and their taxes, all their hunters are licensed, and their equipment, while not exactly high end or cutting edge, is within regulations. So I got creative."

"And?" Gibbs demanded.

"And I looked up their competitors." Abby bounced a little in place. "Ask me what I found, Gibbs."

"What'd you find, Abbs?"

"I am so glad you asked. Although Indianapolis boasts two higher end ghost hunting businesses, a small government Paranormal Services office, and a whole host of illegal to marginally legal lone hunters, there's only one other low cost yet respectable establishment available." A picture of a graffiti splashed brick building flanked by a tattoo parlor and a bar filled the screen.

"Respectable, Abbs?" Gibbs asked dryly.

"Well, mostly respectable. It's in a bad part of town, but it's up to codes, and some of it's equipment is higher end than the Expulsionists'. More importantly, unlike them, it has an appeasement first policy. It not only has the lowest salting/job percentage ratio in the nation, the owner's actually helped ghosts find work and job placements. He hired a ghost as a receptionist." Abby's voice had gained intensity. "The two businesses are like massive rivals. They're the Montagues and the Capulets of the Indianapolis ghost hunters, and - " she held up a hand, "the city's literally not big enough for both of them. There's just not enough business for both of them, so they're competing like mad for an upcoming government contract in the area. Whoever gets the contract is almost guaranteed to run the other shop out of business. And you'll never guess who this second place is run by."

Gibbs waited.

"Aren't you going to guess?"

"Abbs," he sighed.

Abby grinned at him and put the name up on the screen.

 

"William Todd? NCIS."

The dark haired young man spun away from the brick wall, can of spray paint still in hand. "Hey, man. It's my wall. I can put whatever I want up on it."

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at just what the man had been spraying up there. "I'm not here about the graffiti."

"It's an interesting message to be putting up on the side of your own ghost hunting business, though," Tony chimed in from behind him.

Gibbs resisted the urge to turn around and strangle him. He wasn't supposed to be here.

Will's eyes flicked between them. "I lay them to rest. I don't hunt them. There's a difference."

"Salt's salt," Gibbs said mildly.

"Yeah, and I'll use it if someone's in danger, but that's the only reason. And iron's better, anyway. It weakens them without hurting them quite as much." Will's eyes narrowed. "NCIS. I remember now. You're navy cops, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here about your sister," Gibbs said.

" _We're_ here about your sister," Tony corrected.

A bit of pain touched Will's eyes but he hid it behind confusion. "Rachel? She's been dead nearly two years now. Why come now?"

"Your other sister," Tony told him. "Kate."

The paint can fell from Will's hand and clattered against the pavement. He braced himself against the alley wall. "Kate," he managed. "Why would you - " The penny dropped. He straightened. "She came back." He looked between them. "She did, didn't she?"

"Never left," Tony said quietly. "Only a wisp of a thing. It's not surprising you didn't see her."

"Can - Can I see her? Where is she? What's happened?"

Gibbs told him in short, clipped sentences although he left out the bits that would implicate Tony or Tim. By the time he was done, the hopeful fire that had lit up Will's eyes was gone.

"So that's it, then," he said dully. "I'm too late. Again."

As far as Gibbs was concerned, that was true, and he would have left it at that, but Tony was kinder. "She wasn't mad at you for pushing her."

"Well, that makes one of us." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "Why didn't she just call?"

"She was scared," Gibbs said bluntly.

Will laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I guess my career path wouldn't have exactly been reassuring."

Gibbs shook his head dismissively. "You got rid of the photos."

Will, to his credit, knew instantly what he was talking about. "Mom did," he said heavily. "Dad didn't stop her. It was my fault, really, though. Surprise, surprise. I kept staring at them. Therapist said it wasn't healthy." He snorted. "I, um, kept this, though." He pulled his wallet out of coat pocket and flipped it open before withdrawing a folded scrap of paper from inside. He unfolded it carefully before holding it out to them.

Gibbs walked over to look at it but had to turn away almost immediately.

"It's beautiful," Tony said.

Will looked at the picture for a long moment. "She drew it a few months before. All of us as a happy family." He said the last few words mockingly before folding it back up carefully and put it back into its safe place in his wallet. "I haven't spoken to any of the others in years. Things were never the same after."

"No," Gibbs said, "they aren't." He turned to go.

"Hey, wait! The hunters that salted the grave, who were they?"

Gibbs knew that tone. It was one he knew better than to answer.

Tony ran after him as he turned around the corner and headed for his car. "Why'd you come here?"

Gibbs turned to him incredulously. "Why did _I_ come here? I'm not the one that was ordered to stay home! How'd you even get here?"

"Well, technically, as long as we're on bereavement leave you're not my boss - " Tony saw the look on his face and changed tactics quickly, "and I sort of stowed away in your suitcase, Literally. I figured, hey, if McGeek can fit inside a CPU, why not a suitcase? Guess all the power I've built up does have some disadvantages though, it was really hard to get transparent enough that you wouldn't see me."

"So you tagged along with me to talk to a ghost hunter," Gibbs growled.

Tony met his glare steadily. "You needed someone to watch your six."

Gibbs yanked the passenger door open before stalking around to the other side and getting in.

"So that's why I'm here, Boss, but why are you? Why dredge it all up again?"

"Because I needed to make a choice," Gibbs finally admitted. A choice between the kind of vengeance he wanted and the kind he could afford to take. A choice between the man who had killed Kate, and the group that had taken her from him.

That was all he would say for the rest of the ride, but he let Tony hang around when he stopped the car and made a phone call.

He had a few contacts in Paranormal Services. They'd be interested to know that one of the companies they were considering for a government contract had mistaken a terrorist for a federal agent, even if he couldn't give them all the details.

Bankruptcy and the loss of a job weren't the kind of justice he dealt in. He wanted a long, solitary wait looking through the scope of a rifle. He wanted three splashes of blood on an alley wall.

He would have, once. He had, once.

But that was before he had something to lose. Before he had two pairs of eyes watching him so they could learn what to do.

Some lessons he didn't want to teach. He didn't want them to turn out like him.

They deserved better than that.

 

It was too quiet in the house. Tony and Tim had been creeping around like mice, and there was no Kate to bicker or laugh.

For the second time in his life, he had to look at a room that used to be his daughter's and face the sure knowledge that she'd never be in it again.

He did what he'd done the first time too and shut the door.

There was a long line of photos on the hallway wall. It was safe for them up here. No one came up here except them, so he'd filled the wall with photo after photo. Some were of them pretending to be grown, flashing their badges. Most were of them small and laughing.

Tony. Tim. Kate. Laughing. Playing. Never quite as rosy cheeked as they should have been, never quite alive, but - enough. More than enough.

Kate beamed up at him from a picture of her at the park. She'd just jumped from a swing at the height of its arch and floated fearlessly to the ground.

The frame had gotten tilted somehow. He reached for it.

"No!"

He turned, frowning, to see Tim standing in the hallway. Tim seemed stunned by his own blurted words, but he clenched his fists and stood his ground. "Y-you can't take down her pictures. That's what happened the first time. She - she hated that. You can't."

"Easy, Tim," he said quietly. "Just straightening it, that's all."

It shouldn't have been possible, but Tim blushed tomato red anyway. "Oh. Um, sorry. Of course you wouldn't - I should just - " He stumbled back to retreat to his and Tony's room.

"It's Friday, isn't it?" Gibbs said, still in the same quiet voice.

"Um, yes, sir. I mean, Boss."

"Find Tony. I'll start on some popcorn."

"Boss?"

"It's movie night, isn't it? Your turn to pick."

Tim gaped at him. "But . . . "

He straightened the photo. "I don't think Kate'll mind."

Three buckets of sugar coated popcorn later, the two boys were curled up far closer to him on the couch than they normally were, and the second movie was just drawing to a close. Gibbs was fighting a grim battle against the weariness that had settled deep in his bones. He knew all too well what he'd dream of that night.

But in the moment between hearing the boy's quietly bicker for the first time since Kate had left them and the moment when the dreams of silence, salt, and blood began, he could have sworn he heard Kate laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Contains references to "Kill Ari Part One" and "Kill Ari Part Two".
> 
> Okay, so, not much Ziva, but she was introduced, so she gets the title. She'll show up more next chapter.
> 
> I have loved each and every review that I've gotten for this story, but I do have a slight concern. I know for a fact that there are a few young eyes reading this fic, and I ask for their sake that everyone keep their language G rated. That said, thank you again for reviewing!


	10. Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does Ziva come to be accepted into the family?  
> Answer: Slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for nonsuicidal self-harm. From a ghost, if that makes a difference.

"Gibbs and the director seem very friendly," Tony mused thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his chin as he swiveled his chair back and forth. "You don't think we'll be getting a stepmother, do you, McGeek? Because I hate stepmothers."

"Tony, I'm sure they're just friends. And stepmothers aren't always like they are in the movies, you know," Tim said patiently as he continued typing away at his report. The elevator doors dinged open.

"Who said anything about the movies? I was talking about my dad's ex-wives. They never seemed to like me much."

"I cannot imagine why," a familiarly accented voice said.

Tony spun to see Ziva David standing by the elevator surveying the bullpen.

"Work begins earlier here than I expected. I thought being here by five would be ample."

"It is. We were here all night with Gibbs," Tim said slowly.

Tony cut him off. "What are you doing here again?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Gibbs did not tell you? I have been assigned to your team as a Mossad liaison." She set her backpack down on Kate's desk.

"That's not yours," Tony said sharply. "And considering how much fuss he's been kicking up over it, I doubt he added you in just like that."

Ziva looked around. "I shall need to sit somewhere. Why not this desk?"

Gibbs appeared from around the corner. "That's Kate's desk." He did a double take and pulled to a halt. "What are you doing here?"

"The director did not tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Gibbs growled.

Tony grinned from the safety of his desk. Anyone who knew Gibbs would be backing down right about now. Ziva was still naive enough to stand firm although even she was starting to look uncertain.

"She has added me to your team. I look forward to working with you."

Gibbs stared at her for a long moment, ignoring her outstretched hand before turning around and stalking up the stairs towards the director's office.

"That was unfortunate," Ziva muttered. "Is he always like this?"

Tony thought about Gibbs patiently teaching all three of them how to throw a football and allowing himself to be tackled by three giggling ghosts. He thought about steaks cooked any way they liked and hours at the gun range where he never once lost his temper with their slow progress. He thought about him patiently tucking them in each night, no matter what had happened that day.

"Pretty much," he told her brightly. "You sure you want to work here?"

Tim knew better, of course, but he didn't say anything to correct him.

They weren't about to reveal any of Gibbs' vulnerabilities to a Mossad assassin, after all.

And, more selfishly, there were some aspects of Gibbs that they wanted to keep for themselves.

 

Gibbs didn't bother knocking on Jen's door. If she wanted him to respect her new position, she needed to start respecting his. It was his team, not hers, and he didn't need or want her butting in on it.

He especially didn't want her assigning a professional spy who was probably more loyal to her than to him. If Jen wanted someone to tell her how his team was running, she should ask him, not send in someone who had the skills to learn far too much about his team and the ruthlessness to use the information.

Jen looked up as he slammed the door closed. "I see your manners have not improved, Jethro." She pushed her seat back and stood. "Your glare's become even more impressive, though."

Gibbs slammed his hands down on her desk and leaned into her personal space. "Care to explain why there's a Mossad ghost assassin assigned to my team, and I didn't know about it?"

Jen refused to lean back. "She'll be an invaluable asset."

"Any case she's involved in will get thrown out of court!"

"Her position as Mossad liaison will protect us from that. No one will even know what she is unless they go looking, and if they do, they'll find every 'i' dotted and 't' crossed. Believe it or not, I do know what I'm doing."

"Then do it with some other team," Gibbs demanded. "I don't want her."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you're so prejudiced, Jethro. Weren't you the one that pushed for Dr. Mallard to be allowed to hire Mr. Palmer?"

"I don't care what she is, I care who she is," Gibbs gritted out. "And she's not someone I can trust."

Jen just took her seat again and leaned back with a smile. "Well, trust, like relationships, takes time to develop. I'm sure you'll warm up to each other soon."

"You forgotten my rule about assumptions already, Director?"

A hint of frost crept into her voice. "My decision is final, Special Agent Gibbs. Live with it."

He slammed the door shut with the force of a gunshot. The secretary gave him a look as he stormed out.

Gibbs couldn't have cared less. He slammed the outer door too and stormed down the stairs in a cloud of fury.

"Officer David, my office. Now."

She followed him to the elevator without question, but he could see the questions forming in her mind when instead of punching a floor number, he hit the button to close the doors and then hit the emergency stop switch.

"Your office, sir?"

There was more than one thing they'd have to straighten out, apparently. "Don't call me sir."

"Noted. Does this mean I am on your team?"

He leaned up into her space just as he had with the director. "You'll follow my orders and my lead. You report to me and no one else. You protect this team no matter what happens, and if you've got a problem, you come to me. You follow my rules, and you'll be fine. Understood?"

"Understood," she said firmly. "Any other rules?"

He flipped the emergency stop switch back into place. "Fifty of 'em." The doors slid open. He started towards his desk.

She hurried after him. "What are they?"

"You'll learn 'em as we go."

"She's staying?" Tim blurted.

"You got a problem with that?" The words came out as a challenge, but he meant them. If his team had a problem, he'd do what he had to, and that included telling the director to go jump in a lake.

"Nope, I'm good," he said hastily.

"Good." The phone rang. Gibbs grabbed it and listened for a minute before setting it back down. "We've got a dead navy officer at the Smithsonian. Grab your gear."

"The Smithsonian, Boss?" Tony asked skeptically.

Gibbs shot him a look.

"Right. Smithsonian. Great place for a body dump. Finally, a criminal with class."

"Officer David," he snapped.

She turned to his desk. "Ziva, please."

"Weapons," he said.

"What?"

"Weapons. If you're going out into the field, I'm gonna need your weapons first."

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine." She pulled her gun from her holster and slapped it down on the desk.

"Backup."

She pulled a gun from her back reluctantly.

"And your other backup."

She was glaring now, but Gibbs didn't much care.

He did raise an eyebrow when instead of reaching for her ankle like he'd expected, she sent her fingers straight through her thigh and pulled out a gun from there.

She met his gaze steadily with a hint of defiance. "Being dead is not without its advantages."

Tony whistled. "Gotta admit, that's a cool trick."

"And the knives."

One from her belt, one from her boot, and one withdrawn from inside her arm.

He handed her the last one back before grabbing his gear and heading for the elevator.

"Rule nine," Tony explained to her as they hurried after him. "Always carry a knife."

"I would rather have a gun," she grumbled.

"Is our little Mossad assassin admitting she can't kill people as well with just a knife?" Tony mocked.

"I'm not your little anything," she hissed.

This was going to be a long car ride.

 

"So, how was your first case with her?" Jenny's smile encouraged him to give a gruff admission that things had gone better than he expected.

"Well. Assuming you count her endangering McGee by charging a man holding them at gunpoint and her stabbing herself after killing a suspect as 'well',"

Jen's smile didn't completely disappear, but it did freeze into something almost painful looking. "I beg your pardon?"

Tim hadn't truly been endangered by the bullets, which was the only reason he wasn't already yelling, but the attitude behind the action needed to be solved. "She doesn't understand how to work on a team, Jen." She was used to working alone, no doubt.

"But stabbing herself?"

Gibbs tensed a little. "Apparently, it's a Mossad technique." He tried not to let his full feelings on that loose since this wasn't actually Jen's fault. "A little bit of iron does wonders for keeping the blood madness down, and I've been told it doesn't hurt nearly as much as salt." Still painful, by the look on her face, but the blood lust had flowed out of her along with her strength. She had shrugged it off as if it were nothing.

Expected. Routine. Nothing unusual in either the death or her coping method.

Jen sighed. "I assume this means you still want her off your team, then."

And let some other team leader get a hold of her? One that wouldn't trust her or be able to teach her better ways to handle things? One that hadn't gotten McGee to hack into her file and thus one who didn't know exactly how young she was?

Eight years, nine months. Just a bit younger than Kelly had been.

She was dangerous, and if one of his boys got hurt because of her, he would salt her himself because she wasn't his yet, but -

"Never assume," he reminded her and turned to go.

"Jethro," she called just as he got to the door. "Is that it?"

He turned. "Is what it?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't talked to me since the promotion."

He raised his hands in a gesture of frustrated innocence. "We just did!"

She got up. "You know what I meant."

He did.

"Supper tonight?" she offered. "Rooftop Grill, my treat."

"I've got plans," he told her.

Her face hardened just a little. "Another ex-wife in the making, Jethro?"

"Family," he corrected and slipped out the door before she could propose another time.

He checked his watch as he headed down the stairs. If he was going to make the lasagna he had promised them, they needed to go soon.

"It's getting late. Head home," he said for Ziva's benefit as he entered the bullpen.

"One minute to finish my report, Boss?" Tony requested, glancing up from his computer screen.

"You got sixty seconds, DiNozzo."

Ziva paused in the process of gathering up her stuff. It had been left scattered on the top of the desk since she still didn't have the key to it. "Is there some rule about not being here without supervision that I should be aware of?"

Tim paled. Tony sent his report to the printer triumphantly and flashed Ziva a grin. "Nah, just a carpool. We live so close together, it doesn't make sense to take separate cars. You want in?"

The lie - which was only a lie by what it implied when he thought about it - fell naturally from Tony's lips. Ziva's face cleared. "No, thank you. I prefer to jog to work." She paused by the elevator. "I will see you tomorrow?"

The question was directed a little pointedly at Gibbs. "Don't be late," he said gruffly. She nodded and disappeared through the doors.

Tim let out a long breath once she was gone. "That was quick thinking, Tony."

Tony shrugged and grabbed his gear. "It's sort of true, anyway. And it sounds better than that two federal agents never learned to drive."

"We've got licenses."

"Yeah, from Abby," Tony scoffed.

"We'll work on that," Gibbs promised. "Come on."

He could feel them both staring at him as they hurried to follow.

"Really? You mean it? Of course you mean it, you never say stuff you don't mean . . . " Tim's voice stuttered to a halt.

"You gonna be the one to teach us, Boss? 'Cause I hate to say it, but if so, it's a good thing we've already got licenses, 'cause there's no way we'd pass any driving test known to man."

"Ziva managed to pass one," he pointed out. "And it's me or Ducky."

Tony winced as he got into the elevator. "Point and double point."

"What's wrong with Ducky's driving?" Tim asked in confusion.

"Nothing," Tony said as the elevator reached the parking garage. "It's the music he always plays on the radio." He shivered. "It's like - Oh, hey, Duck! You heading home too?"

"Yes, indeed, and there's nothing wrong with my music choices. I'll have you know that I spent one memorable summer in London working with a composer there . . . "

 

"You know, I'm not really sure this apartment is worth having a housewarming party over," Tony muttered to Tim as he glanced around Ziva's apartment.

"There are not many buildings that do not check for a pulse," Ziva said defensively from behind them.

Tony spun, wide grin at the ready. "Ziva! There you are. I have to admit, despite it's . . . flaws . . . you've done great with the place."

Gibbs wasn't exactly an interior decorator, but he even he thought Tony's assessment was a little overly optimistic. He'd already caught at least three building code violations, and Ziva's attempts at decorating were aimed more at defense than aesthetics.

It wasn't his problem, though, so he turned back to Abby who was worrying over the dress code Jen was trying to enforce.

"I'll fix it, Abbs," he promised her.

He couldn't fix the half burned meat that was served for supper, but he ate it anyway and glared Palmer into submission when it looked like he was about to speak up. Ziva's smile was almost nervous, and food was food. As long as it wouldn't give them food poisoning, it didn't matter, and Palmer didn't have to worry about that anyway.

There was, however, one thing to argue about, so while the kids set up a Twister mat, whatever that was, he cornered Ziva in the tiny corner that passed as a kitchen.

"Rough neighborhood," he commented.

She shrugged. "I can take care of myself, Gibbs."

That was true enough, so he allowed it to pass without comment. "Nice of you to invite us all over," he said, putting just a little too much emphasis on the word _all_.

If she'd been undercover, Gibbs would have given her credit for not flinching as she waved the comment off graciously. As it was, it just woke the anger that had been lying dormant all night.

The others were laughing loud enough that there was no way they could hear this, but Gibbs lowered his voice anyway. "This stops now."

"The party?" Ziva asked with the perfect note of confusion.

"The games," he said with a look that dared her to pretend that she thought he meant Twister. "The lies. I don't know how you did things in Mossad, but while you're on my team, you'd better act like it."

Ziva kept steadily washing the dishes. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"We did," he said, gaze sharpening. "And we won't be having it a third time. You want a night alone? Fine. You want to invite a teammate or two over? Fine. You want all of us here? Fine. But you do _not_ invite everyone but one. Being partners means watching your partner's six and trusting them to watch yours. You think this kind of thing builds trust?"

"It was a mere oversight, nothing - "

"You finish that sentence, and you'll have lied to me. You do not want to go down that path."

She looked up at him with a touch of defiance. "Tony showed up anyway. There was no harm done."

Gibbs was considering adding another hole to the ones dotting her wall. This was the woman Jen thought she could replace Kate with?

"Because Tim lied to him and said he'd forgotten to pass on your invitation," Gibbs said through gritted teeth. It felt like disappointment and grief were carving permanent lines on his face.

Something afraid and very young crept into Ziva's eyes as he shook his head, but it didn't stop him from turning away.

 

The tricky thing about gunfire was not that it could hurt him, but that he had to avoid it so that Ziva wouldn't discover that it couldn't hurt him. A ghost's Sight might be superior enough that they could see even the faintest wisp of a ghost, but that didn't make them bloodhounds that could sniff out their own kind. If they'd grown strong enough to pass as living to normal people, a ghost wouldn't know any different either. As far as Tony knew, his and Tim's secrets were still safe, and he intended to keep it that way.

He ducked behind one of the metal containers on the dock for cover. "There's an open container about twenty yards to our left," he told Ziva.

"Or I could just run out and shoot them," she said calmly.

"NCIS wants to keep you under the radar, remember?" There was a pause in the staccato rhythm of gunshots. He peered around the corner and fired rapidly at the two gang members he could see. One went down with a hole in his leg. His friend fired in return.

Tony ducked back to safety. "Besides, I don't want you to go all blood mad on me."

She rolled her eyes. "I will be fine."

"Yeah, if you stab yourself. That can't be healthy."

"I am dead," she said flatly. "Health has already - how do you Americans say it? Hit the lowest stone?" She spun to fire at the man trying to creep up on them. Three bullets hit him dead in the chest.

"Rock bottom," he corrected automatically. "Look, just humor me, okay? Oh, and cover me. That too."

He didn't want to leave her alone, but this was the best way to lure her into the storage container with him. He didn't care about the cover (much), but he did care about getting her away from more potential kills. He didn't like the look in her eyes.

Whatever her opinion of his plan, she did cover him as made a run for it. He returned the favor despite the face he knew she must be rolling her eyes.

Two boxes had been blocking the entrance. He hopped up on one and leaned out to return covering fire until Ziva joined him.

"That was completely unnecessary."

"Ziva, you do know how close we are to the ocean, right? One wrong move and you're in a puddle of salt water."

"I can deal with pain."

"Yeah, well - Don't!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, dragging them both further back the line of boxes that led to the wall instead of onto the center of the floor like she had been moving towards.

"What?" Ziva snapped.

Then she looked down.

A wire net stretched across the floor. In bare feet, it would be uncomfortable for someone living.

But even from here, Tony could feel the chill.

"Iron," Ziva hissed. "More of it than I would like."

The gunfire went quiet. The sound of beeping and voices picked up instead.

Then the doors started to swing closed.

Tony lurched forward, but the footing on the boxes was uneven. He slid, falling hard, as the doors latched closed.

His hand was an inch from the floor.

He pulled himself up slowly and turned to look at Ziva. "They friendlies or hostiles, do you think?"

"We cannot risk it. They sound as if they are already moving off; they would not hear us anyway."

"Fair enough." He looked at the walls speculatively. "I don't see any wire there. What do you think the chances are?"

She touched one carefully. "I cannot tell. There could be something layered in the middle." She hesitated. "I would prefer not to risk it."

So would he. "Options, then?"

"Perhaps there is something useful in one of the boxes? At the very least, we might discover what it is those men were attempting to protect."

"Maybe, but I'm a bit reluctant to start ripping up what we're standing on."

"There is nothing to prevent you from stepping down onto the floor and then opening one. I will remain over here."

He tried a smile on her. "But we're having so much fun!"

"This is no time for games!" A thought occurred to her and she frowned. "You are not hurt, are you?"

He let out a breath in a big gust. "Nooo . . . "

"Then what possible reason could you have for not wishing to - " She stopped.

Let no one ever say that Mossad raised 'em dumb.

"You are dead." It wasn't a question.

"You know what, as long as we're careful, there's no reason we can't start opening some of these. Your knife's better at prying. Pass it over, will you?"

She held out a sheathed one mutely. His hand trembled a bit as he reached for it.

He snatched his hand back. "That's the knife you used to stab yourself with. Not that one. The other one."

"Tony," she said insistently.

She wasn't going to let this go. He had to give her something, or she might take it further up the food chain.

"You are dead," she repeated.

"Maybe just a little." He held up his fingers to indicate a tiny amount. "Eensy weensy bit dead. Nothing to worry about. Can I have the knife now?" He snatched it from her when she drew it out. "Thank you." He got to work on a box to his right.

"You need to tell Gibbs."

At least something was going right in all this mess. She still didn't know about the others. "I'm not telling Gibbs." The top of the crate was starting to come loose.

"He cannot make good decisions if he does not know what his team is capable of."

"He can't get charged with complicity either." The top popped open. "Got it!" He peered inside. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have . . . DVDs!" He picked one up and flipped it open just to make sure that was what was really inside. "I understand wanting to protect a good movie, but why bother with a ghost trap?"

"There could be something more incriminating in a box further back," Ziva said.

"Good point." He considered the open floor with the scattering of tall crates across it. "How do we get there to check?" After the initial line of boxes, there weren't any in stepping distance, and the nearest ones were tall enough to make jumping difficult.

Ziva sprang. She flew through the air for a terrifying second before she landed on the next box, hard.

"The floor is lava," he muttered before gritting his teeth and jumping after her.

He didn't jump quite high enough. He banged against the box. His fingers desperately scrabbled for purchase on the edge. His legs swung a half inch over the floor.

Ziva grabbed his arms and pulled. He pushed his legs against the box to help her and managed to scramble up.

"Bad lava," he panted. "Thanks, Ziva."

She frowned at him. "The floor is iron, not lava. If it were lava, there would be no problem."

There was his literal Mossad assassin. "It's a kid's game. Didn't you play it as a kid?"

"No." She started considering their next jump.

"Did you play anything as a kid? Or is fun reserved for people who aren't baby assassins?"

"I was not yet an assassin," she said absently. "And of course I had fun. I have very fond memories of my father taking my brother and I out to the forest." She didn't quite have room to stand up on the taller crate. Instead of jumping, she stretched until her shape was barely recognizable as human before arching over to it like a Slinky.

"Okay, that was cool. Disturbing, but cool. Can you teach me?"

She melted back into her normal self. "I doubt it," she said flatly. "You have not killed as many as I."

"Right," he muttered. He jumped, letting himself slip into intangibility as he fell. He crashed through the wall of the crate and pushed himself up until he was on top of it. He solidified slowly. "So, forest with your dad. Camping?" Probably best to leave her brother out of it.

"He would leave us there and see if we could make our way back alone." She considered her next jump. "There are two boxes close to one another in that corner. If we jump to the closer one, we can pry open the other."

"Left you there," Tony repeated. The words felt bitterly familiar on his tongue. "That seems dangerous. Anything could have happened."

Ziva jumped. The box wasn't really big enough for two, so he stayed where he was.

She started attacking the next box.

She still hadn't said anything.

Oh.

"You know," he said carefully. "That's how I died. My dad left me alone at a hotel when I was ten. Probably would have been fine - I mean, hey, I was old enough to order room service, right? Except I was sick. Really sick. You?"

"I was foolish," she said. Her voice had gone distant and hard again. "I had made my way through the forest safely before. I was nearly back to my father. I grew complacent." She peered inside the box. "More DVDs. I suppose there could be something hiding in the bottom." She started to throw them out onto the floor.

Kate would have known what to say. Kate had been good at that.

He swallowed hard and said, "Hey, stepping stones! Toss some of those over here. We can walk on top of them."

Ziva frowned thoughtfully. "We could damage the contents."

"As much as I hate the thought of destroying copies of a perfectly good movie, I'm more worried about damaging us. Come on, if you feel that badly about it, you can pay for them when we get out of here."

Ziva shrugged and started tossing DVD cases onto the floor.

Tony slid down off the crate and landed on two of the cases. The discs snapped under cases slid on the iron wire and shifted under his feet.

He caught the edge of the crate. Okay, he could do this. It would just take some practice, that was all.

He crouched carefully and picked another case up with his fingers. He held his breath until he had pulled it safely away from the metal. He could feel the chill even from his relatively safe position.

Tony dropped the case a pace in front of him. He stepped onto it, balancing carefully, and then reached back for another one.

Just like pretending the floor was lava. He'd played that game a lot. It had been fun, leaping from designer couch to antique table and seeing how many rooms he could get through without touching the carpets he'd been warned not to get mud on. His mother had always laughed whenever she'd found him crouched and considering his next move. One time she'd joined him.

She'd been drinking, and it hadn't ended well, but it had been fun while it lasted. He had good memories of that.

Step, step, jump, drop . . .

His father had caught him once, too. He'd lectured him until he'd been distracted by a business call.

He had fond memories of that too. It was the longest he could ever remember his father paying attention to him at one time.

Admittedly, it hadn't been all fun and games. One time he'd misjudged the size of the room and had crashed into the wall.

The size of the room.

He stopped in front of the back wall and glanced back at the door. How big was it?

What about when compared to the outside?

"It's smaller on the inside."

"What?" Ziva looked up from her crate.

"The dimensions are off. I think there might be something behind this wall."

Ziva slid off her crate - a lot more gracefully than he had - and started picking her way across the floor on the DVD stepping stones. She carried a stack of DVDs for additional bridge building materials in case they proved necessary.

She ran her fingers over the wall. "There." She pressed an almost invisible depression. A door to the back swung inward.

There was a thin line of unlined floor where the door would rest when closed. The smugglers had been smart enough not to let people become suspicious by iron wire running under the door.

They had, unfortunately, started up a new net on the other side.

Ziva dropped the first of the cases she carried and made her way inside. It was darker in there. There weren't any of the small windows near the roof to provide light and ventilation that there were in the main area. Tony passed up his flashlight to her and followed her into the small space as best he could.

Another crate took up the majority of the space. Ziva handed him back the flashlight, dropped the DVDs, and started working on the latch.

It popped open quickly. She pushed the lid up -

"Ah!' The lid banged back down onto the crate. She drew her fingers back close to her chest for a moment, hissing.

"Ziva?"

"Iron," she said tersely.

"What do you need?" Tony asked immediately.

She waved him off. "I am not so weak as to disappear at a finger brush of iron." She gritted her teeth and used her knife to push the lid of the crate up. Tony handed her the abandoned stack of DVDs to prop it up with.

Ziva peered inside. "Money," she announced. "One hundred dollar bills stacked deep enough to fill the crate."

That . . . was a lot of money. He frowned. "Can you reach one without touching the iron?"

"Yes." She pulled one out and handed it to him. "You suspect it may be counterfeit?"

"Can't hurt to check. I don't suppose you're carrying a lighter?"

Her face brightened a bit. "One moment." She dug around in her upper left arm before pulling one out triumphantly.

"How much stuff are you carrying around like that?" he demanded.

She blinked at him. "As much as is necessary. Here."

Shaking his head, he flicked the lighter open and held the bill to it.

Fire immediately caught in the lower right corner. The bill curled up as a small stream of smoke started.

He dropped it to the ground and almost stomped on it before he remembered why that was a bad idea. Well, it was a metal storage container. It would burn out soon enough.

He looked at Ziva. "Trick I learned on the History channel. Real money doesn't burn."

"So we now know what they were doing here, but how are we to get out?"

Tony walked back into the main room and glanced at the windows. "How do you feel about pulling your little Slinky trick again and going for help?"

 

Blood didn't worry Gibbs. Guns didn't either.

He wasn't worried about trying to find two ghostly members of his team at a saltwater port. He was moving quickly, he was snapping at anyone who got in his way or looked at him funny, and he wasn't sure what he would do if he found a gunman that was still breathing, but he wasn't worried.

"Boss, you don't think . . . " Tim looked out at the dark water in the harbor.

"No," he bit off.

Tim's nod was more like a flinch.

"They're okay, McGee," he said, gentling his voice with a hard effort. "Trust me."

They were okay, because they had to be. They were okay. He wasn't going to lose them too, they were fine -

He shut that line of thinking down and kept moving. Without a concrete trail to follow, they had to follow the trajectories of bullets fired from SIGs and hope for the best.

"They were caught in pretty heavy crossfire, Boss," McGee said nervously.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow that conveyed his message of "And?" pretty well. Heavy crossfire wouldn't bother either of them. Except -

"Ziva doesn't know."

McGee caught on immediately. "So Tony'd have to pretend. He'd tell her that they should go for cover." He looked around. "Like a storage container."

That didn't narrow it down much, but best he could tell, they'd been heading east towards the harbor, a fact that he'd yell at them for later.

The sound of a truck beeping as it backed up to pick up its cargo caught his attention.

He turned towards it it time to see a long twisting shape arc out of one of the tiny slots in the container that might be called windows.

"McGee!" he yelled, already running towards it. "Federal agents! Stop!"

They weren't far from it. When McGee's voice joined in the yelling, the truck slowed before rolling to a stop. The driver poked his head out in confusion. "What's going on?"

Gibbs left Tim to deal with him. He ran to the alley formed by two containers where the twisting shape had fallen.

He found Ziva picking herself up from the asphalt and brushing herself off. Some of her gear had come loose and lay scattered around her like the debris from a meteorite crashing to earth.

"Ziva. You all right?"

She nodded briskly. "I am fine, Gibbs, aside from a small brush with some iron."

Iron. Gibbs' gut clenched. "Where's Tony?"

"Still in the storage container." She hesitated. "Gibbs . . . "

"He hurt?" Gibbs demanded.

Something decided itself in Ziva's eyes. "No. Thanks to him, we found a large cache of counterfeit money."

The driver lowered the container back down. McGee threw the doors open as they started to walk back towards it.

"You all right, Tony?" Tim called.

"I'm fine. Just give me a minute, McHurry," Tony grumbled from inside the container. "The footing's tricky."

Ziva had an odd look on her face.

"You sure you're all right?" Gibbs asked her.

She smiled. "I am fine, Gibbs. I . . . think I understand better about what you said. About being a team."

He studied her face. "Good."

Tony's head peeked around the door. "Oh, hey, Boss. Did you miss us?"

"What d'you think, DiNozzo?"

He didn't know Ziva well enough yet to know how she'd interpret it, but Tony beamed like he hadn't for a long, long time.

 

"You didn't tell Gibbs," Tony said quietly. He and Ziva had the bullpen to themselves. Tim was making faces at himself in the mirror for five minutes in the bathroom so that their co-workers wouldn't get suspicious, and Gibbs was talking to the director. It was too late for anyone else to be there.

She shrugged. "Either he would have salted you, or he would have been in danger of losing his job. Neither of those options appealed to me."

A grin slowly spread across his face. He sat on the edge of Kate's desk. "Ziva David, did you just say you would miss me if I was gone?"

"Perhaps." She shrugged. "You have grown on me. Like some sort of fungus."

As compliments went, it wasn't much, but he'd take it. He tossed the key in his hand into the air. It flipped three times before smacking back onto his palm.

She wasn't Kate by a long shot. As a replacement, she was hopelessly inadequate.

But she was Ziva, and as a team member in her own right - an addition, not a replacement - she had definite potential.

He tossed the key one more time before handing it over to Ziva. "A gift. Use it well, young padawan."

She stared at it for a long moment.

"It goes to the desk," Tony prompted.

She nodded. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "I figured if this went on too much longer, you'd just pick the lock." He deflected the brewing sentiment as best he could and went to kill time on his computer until Gibbs showed back up.

Counterfeit plot foiled, progress made with Ziva, and a Johnny Depp marathon waiting at home.

All in all, a good day, he decided. Of course, he still had to explain to Gibbs that their secret was well on its way to being out.

He was not optimistic about that conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Contains references to "Silver War", "Boxed In", and "Hide and Seek", including a few lines more or less directly from "Boxed In". For some reason, I'm thinking Ziva's fungus line was in the show too, but I have no idea where so . . . Take it with a grain of salt? Unless you're a ghost, of course.
> 
> I know Ziva is taking longer than any of the others to join the family, but I felt like that would be more realistic for her character. She'll get there eventually, just give her a while.
> 
> Next chapter title: Franks.


	11. Franks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the ways to meet Gibbs' old mentor, this one was less than ideal.

Gibbs didn't spend as much time in his basement as he used to, but his boat wasn't going to finish itself, and the repetitive motion of sanding and the satisfaction of building something helped ease away the cares of the job.

On the bad nights, he would play the recording of Kelly playing the piano, but he wasn't to that point yet. He was just working.

"You want to give it a try, Tony?"

Tony froze on the top step where he'd been wavering between coming down and fleeing back upstairs. "How did you - "

Gibbs looked at him.

"Never mind." He eased down a few more steps before sitting down while he was still at a safe distance.

Gibbs started sanding again in the hopes that not being the center of attention would help Tony feel more comfortable.

After a few minutes of the stair creaking under Tony as he shifted uncomfortably, he finally blurted out, "We might have a problem, Boss."

Gibbs didn't stop sanding. "What kind of problem?"

"Ziva knows I'm a ghost."

Gibbs stopped sanding.

"She doesn't know that Tim's one too," Tony hastened to add. "And she doesn't know that you, Abby, and Ducky are all in on the secret. I made sure of that."

Tony had his full attention now. "Any idea what she's going to do?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony shrugged. "I think she's going to keep it a secret. It's what she said, anyway, and I believe her. It does mean that she think she's keeping a secret from you, though, so that might be a problem later."

Gibbs took a deep breath. "What did she say?"

"Said she didn't want me to get salted or you to get fired. As reasons go, it's not bad, Boss."

"But you're still worried." He walked over to the bottom of the stairs.

"Not worried," Tony said defensively. "Just trying to keep you in the loop, that's all."

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his face. "You trust her?"

Tony looked down. "I gave her the key to Kate's desk," he admitted.

Gibbs looked up at him sharply.

"She can't replace Kate, and I don't want her to. But it's not about replacing, is it, Boss?"

Gibbs remembered the conversation he'd had with Tony after Tim had joined them. "Guess not," he agreed at last. "You told Tim yet?"

"Not yet. I will."

"I'll do it." He tossed the sanding paper onto the work table.

Tony scrambled up. "I don't want to interrupt, Boss. I've got this." He looked at the expression Gibbs' face. "Unless you want to do it, of course. You've got this. Right, Boss."

He ruffled Tony's hair as he went by. If Tony did the explaining, Tim would keep interrupting and work himself into a panic. Better to get it out all at once.

Everything would be fine. He'd make sure of it.

 

Six months after the revelation, Tony was feeling cautiously optimistic. Ziva had kept his secret so far, rarely bringing it up even when they were alone, and then only obliquely. Sooner or later, they might want to tell her about Tim too, just to make things easier in the field.

At the moment though, he was more worried about other things. For instance, the fact that Gibbs was on a ship talking to an informant in an attempt to track down a terrorist while they were stuck here watching by the car.

"He should have taken backup," Ziva said.

"He couldn't," Tim said. "You know what the director said - " He stood up on his toes to get a better view of the ship.

"Shut up and give me the binoculars," Tony said, snatching them from his hand.

"I do not know what you expect to see," Ziva said. "It is far too dark for those to be effective."

As if in answer, fire blossomed from the ship. Sound that would have deafened any normal agents filled the air.

Gibbs.

The binoculars clattered to the pavement. Tony took off running.

"Tony, no!" Ziva sprinted after him and grabbed his arm. "You cannot risk it!"

Tony tried to wrench his arm from her grasp. "Let me go!"

"That is an iron hull sitting in salt water," she hissed back. "Let McGee go."

That wouldn't work, and Gibbs might need their help. He let his arm melt to intangibility, but Ziva just let hers melt along with his until they were trapped in a weird fusion.

Another trick. He tugged desperately. "Ziva . . . "

"McGee, go find Gibbs," she said without taking her eyes off Tony. She'd angled her body to hide the way their arms were interlocked. "I will call for aid."

"I - I can't!" Tim looked desperately to Tony.

"Gibbs needs you!" Ziva snapped. "I do not care how seasick you get, you are needed on that boat!"

Tim took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Ship," Tony corrected automatically. He looked at Tim for permission. Tim gulped but nodded. "And if Tim can do it we can do it, Ziva. He'll be no better off if he gets a face full of salt water than we will be."

Ziva threw her hands up in exasperation. "Is there anyone on this team who is not dead?"

Tony rubbed his newly freed arm and took off running for the boat again. "Yeah, Gibbs," he yelled over his shoulder.

"We hope," Tim added.

Normally that comment would have earned Tim a glare, but since Tim had overcome his fear enough to be right on his heels, Tony decided to let it go.

To her credit, Ziva only uttered one last huff of exasperation at their insanity before following them.

After one too many close calls at crime scenes, they had all taken to wearing real shoes instead of shifting to make it look like they were wearing some, a fact that Tony was grimly thankful for as they raced across pavement slick with sea spray and puddles. If one of them fell -

Tony shoved the thought away. He'd have run across it barefoot if he had to and lived with the pain. Gibbs was more important.

He could hear shouting now that they were closer to the ship, and he could see the dark outlines of figures rushing around on the deck. He charged up the ramp to join them.

Ziva grabbed his arm. "Do not touch anything," she ordered him and looked back at McGee to make sure he knew he was included in the command.

Tony nodded impatiently and started pushing his way towards the source of the confusion. There was a sickening chill and weakness brought on by the proximity of so much iron, and the looming threat of salt promised by the waves made his skin crawl, but that didn't matter. He had to get to Gibbs.

"Federal agents! Make way!"

The way cleared, more or less, and he ran down the stairs that led deeper into the ship.

A wisp of smoke was still dissipating in the corridor. Tony headed towards the source. He could hear Ziva and McGee behind him.

Nothing, nothing - There.

The dirty metal walls gave way to blackened ones. The shells of metal machines crouched in the corners of the room. Laundry room, maybe? It didn't matter.

What mattered was the smell of burnt meat and the corpse that was missing the lower half of its body in the middle of the room.

What mattered was Gibbs, just around the corner, lying far too still on the narrow hallway's floor, dust and debris coating skin turned red from the heat, and blood seeping from his head.

Like Kate had looked when she died.

A strangled noise choked its way out of his throat. He fell to his knees beside his boss and only thought to be glad this part of the floor wasn't iron once he was already down. He hunted frantically for a pulse on his boss's wrist, but it took too long because his hand kept flickering in and out at his anxiety.

It was pointless, anyway. He could tell Gibbs was breathing. He wasn't thinking straight.

"He's - alive. Ziva - "

She was already dialing, sharp voice demanding immediate medical and back up.

Tim was still staring at what was left of the body in the charred room.

"Tim, get me something to clean him up with," he snapped. Had to take care of Tim, had to take care of Gibbs, had to get all of them off here - not alive, too late for that, but at least somewhat intact -

He was afraid to move Gibbs, afraid to touch him, but he needed help. What was he supposed to do?

"Gibbs, come on, wake up," he said desperately. "Don't do this to me, Boss. Don't do this."

Ziva snapped the phone shut. "Medical aid will be here in five minutes. More agents will be here in fifteen." She paused. "The director wishes to assign another team to the case."

The case? Who cared about the case? He just nodded. The sooner they got off this death trap, the better.

Tim came running with a handful of wet towels. Tony snatched them from him and started dabbing at the blood and filth gingerly, terrified of making it worse.

"Come on, Gibbs, come on. Don't do this to us, Boss. Think of what Abby - " His voice broke.

"Abby," Ziva said. "And Ducky. I shall call them."

Tim said something shaky back, but Tony had tuned them out.

Gibbs was going to be fine. He had to be.

He wasn't sure if it had been more than five minutes or less when the paramedics came running down the corridor. He stood aside to make way.

"Tim, go with them," he heard himself say. He wanted to, he needed to, but he was the Senior Field Agent, and he had to stay at the scene until he was relieved. Tim should go. He'd be safe once he was off the boat. He must be worried about Gibbs too.

He stared after the paramedics long after they'd carried the Gibbs' limp figure off.

"Tony."

He started. From the way Ziva was looking at him, this hadn't been the first time she'd said his name.

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," he growled. "But if the person who did this isn't already dead, they're going to be."

"Yes," Ziva agreed. Her eyes had gone very dark. "And they will not be coming back."

That understood, they waited in silence until another team showed up.

 

The team cycled through waiting at Gibbs' bedside. The moment Gibbs was out of surgery, Tim had been at his side until both the director and Abby had shown up, and the doctors had said one of them would have to go. He'd haunted the hallway outside until the director had been called away and he'd been able to dart back in.

Ducky managed to avoid the two visitor rule by reason of being Gibbs' general physician. He scanned the charts by the beside and the beeping gadgets that even Tim didn't understand all the purposes of before turning and assuring both him and Abby that Gibbs should be fine once he woke up.

Abby was called back to work. Tony and Ziva finally showed up. Tony looked like he needed to be alone, and Tim needed a break from the beeping and the waiting before he went mad, so he stepped out into the hallway where Ziva was still waiting.

She considered him for a long moment. "You are like me."

It was a testament to just how bad a night it had been that it took him a moment before he remembered what she was talking about. "What? Oh. You mean . . . "

"Yes. You did not tell me."

"What exactly was I supposed to say?" Tim demanded. "Hey, Ziva, just so you know I'm - "

She darted forward and pressed a hand over his mouth. "Do not say it in public," she hissed.

"Mph," he said around her hand, nodding frantically. She stepped back and let him go.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Ziva demanded.

"Well, Palmer's like us, but he's registered," he said. "It's not exactly a secret, but we don't advertise it either."

She waved a dismissive hand. "I knew that before I came here. Anything else?"

Tim hesitated.

She leaned in. Her hand was drumming on the hilt of one of her knives. The iron one. "McGee."

"Gibbs knows," he said in a rush.

She leaned back. "That does not surprise me. The man appears to know everything."

He might have let the rest of it spill, but Tony came back to the door with dead eyes. "What did the doctors say?"

"He got really got lucky," Tim assured him. "They think he'll be more or less fine once he wakes up."

_Once he wakes up._

Comforting the first night.

Less so the second.

Or the third.

Or the fourth.

The director said something about terrorists and the ongoing case, but all Tim could hear were the doctor's words still echoing in his brain.

_Past trauma. Coma. If he wakes up and he gets hit on the head again -_

_If_ he wakes up.

He didn't think he'd been supposed to hear that last one.

 

Tony sat in the chair next to Gibbs' bed and wished he could slip into a form more suited for curling up in it. The others were gone to either work or to do things like eat so that they could pretend to be normal.

The sun was edging towards setting.

Another day, and Gibbs still wasn't awake.

Tony folded his hands and leaned down until his elbows were propped up on his knees. "So I, uh, I know it's been a while. Sorry about that. It probably doesn't look too good that I've waited until something like this happened to talk to You, huh?" He swallowed even though, for a ghost, the gesture was pointless. "But the thing is, this is really important. Gibbs is . . . Gibbs is everything to me. And it's not just me," he hastened to add. "He tracks down bad guys, and he's really good at his job. And he's just as important to Tim, and Abby, and Ducky, and Ziva, and . . . And we all really need him to wake up. So I, I'll make you a deal. You wake him up, and then, the next time You have to take someone on the team, You can take me. Not Tim, not Ziva, not Gibbs. Me." He looked down. "Although I guess that's not much of a deal, is it? I'm supposed to be giving something up, and being the next one to go . . . That's the easy part." He felt his eyes start to water and he brushed them angrily. "This is the hard part. And I know Mom said bargaining wasn't supposed to be how it worked anyway, but just . . . Please. Not Gibbs. Let him wake up. Please."

He waited a long moment before standing up and shoving the chair back. "You know, this would be a lot easier if You would give me a straight answer," he muttered angrily. He stalked towards the door. He needed some air.

The monitors started to beep more rapidly.

Tony spun. "Gibbs?" He rushed to the bed. "Gibbs, can you hear me?"

Gibbs eyes blinked open slowly. He still looked far too vulnerable lying there on the bed, but he was one step closer to being back to himself.

A smile so wide it hurt broke across Tony's face. "Gibbs!" He half turned towards the door. "Dr. Pitt! He's waking up!"

Gibbs mumbled something. Tony turned back to him anxiously. "Gibbs? What was that? Do you need something?"

"Who're you?" Gibbs slurred.

Dr. Pitt rushed into the room.

Tony sat down hard on the chair next to the bed and tried to tell himself that he didn't feel like someone had just jabbed a dozen iron knives into his back.

 

As best the doctors could figure, the last thing Gibbs remembered was from around the time he joined NIS which was so far back that even Ducky hadn't been there.

The director had disappeared with promises to track down his mentor from the time. She hadn't said anything about the intel that Gibbs had from the disastrous mission that they so badly needed, but the worry was plain in her eyes.

Ducky had told them that there was every chance that Gibbs would regain his lost memories in time, but he had been suspiciously vague about how much time. The other doctors had been blunter. Maybe he'd regain them today, over lunch. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe next year.

Maybe never.

Abby was on the verge of a breakdown. Tim had gone back to the office so that he'd have access to a computer to research Gibbs' brand of amnesia. The director said she could have sworn he hadn't left his desk in at least twenty-four hours, and he wasn't responding to Tony's texts to get up and move around before someone started asking too many questions. Ziva had left to go drag him physically away from it if it proved necessary.

Tony sat on a chair just outside of Gibbs' room. He texted Tim, soothed Abby, questioned doctors, and until she left, tried to calm down an assassin who refused to admit what was all to obvious to him: that she was upset.

Mostly, though, he just tried not to scream.

He tried not to punch things either, but he was having less success with that goal.

Much less.

He'd watched in horror as Gibbs' confusion had grown before the deaths of his wife and daughter, to him still fresh, hit all over again and he had broken down.

Gibbs didn't break down. Not like that. He wasn't vulnerable. He wasn't hurt.

He didn't forget Tony like his father had.

He'd gone back later when things had calmed down. Gibbs hadn't disliked him or anything. He just . . . hadn't cared. Apathetic, that was the word.

Hadn't someone once said that the true opposite of love wasn't hate, it was apathy?

He could name a dozen amnesia movies just off the top of his head, but he didn't much feel like comparing this to any of them. Some of those movies had been funny, some of them scary, some of them sad, but none of them had felt like this. Like the ground had been yanked out from beneath him and he was left to float down to whatever was below on his own. Like it might be be easier, better, to just fade away, move on, than to deal with this.

He'd hung around for his father at first, but he stayed for Gibbs. If Gibbs didn't even know him, what was there to stay for?

Tim. Abby. Ducky. Ziva. Palmer.

And Gibbs. Gibbs wasn't gone. He still needed help, that was all. He would remember. He had to remember.

_I'm Anthony DiNozzo. Tony. I work for you._

_Work for me?_

_You're senior agent on our team at NCIS. I'm your Senior Field Agent._

_Agent DiNozzo. Gibbs had tried the words out. I don't remember you._

_Tony. You call me Tony._

_Why?_

He could have told him. Should have told him. But that would have led to telling him about Tim, and while Tony was willing to take his chances with an amnesiac Gibbs who felt who-knew-how about ghosts, he wasn't about to risk Tim.

So he'd walked out instead.

The sound of footsteps growing closer drew him out of his circling thoughts. A grey haired man with an old cowboy style mustache and a bad suit was drawing closer.

Tony narrowed his eyes and stood, subtly angling himself to block the door to Gibbs' room. The man hadn't stopped having enemies just because he didn't remember them, and Tony wasn't about to let anyone who looked even vaguely suspicious anywhere near him.

The man stopped in front of him and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna let me through?"

Tony let his hand drop to his gun. "That depends. Who are you?"

"Mike Franks. Who're you?"

Mike Franks. That was the name of Gibbs' old mentor. "Anthony DiNozzo. His senior field agent."

Franks looked him up and down. He seemed to think as little of the designer suit he'd copied his clothes from as Tony thought of his off the rack one. "I've got it from here, boy."

Tony bristled at the name, but he stepped aside. Maybe Franks could help.

He looked through the glass, though, just to be sure that seeing him wouldn't upset Gibbs. Gibbs' face lit up when he saw him.

Franks glanced out through the glass at him and rolled his eyes when he saw him still standing there.

_I've got it from here, boy._

"Yeah," Tony muttered. "I guess you do."

 

Tim called eventually. "How's Gibbs?"

"Same," Tony said tersely. "He cheered up a bit when Franks showed up, though. Did you listen to Ziva and go eat something like a good little McProbie?"

"Er, yeah." He sounded embarrassed. "Listen, Tony, I had a thought. How much longer do you think Gibbs will be in the hospital?"

Tony glanced into his room. "Not long. You know how he gets. Why? You think going home will jog something?"

"If it doesn't, we could be in trouble. He's going to start wondering why there's a bunch of kids' stuff there pretty quick. I mean, it might not be a problem. He took us in once, right?"

"He hadn't just lost his family then." Tony ran a hand over his face. This was bad.

"What do we do, Tony?"

Right. He was the oldest now. It was up to him to take care of things when Gibbs couldn't.

Inspiration struck. He couldn't risk Tim. He'd prefer not to get salted himself.

But those weren't his only options, were they?

"McGee, I need you to get something for me," he ordered.

_You don't mind bailing us out of trouble one last time, do you, Kit-Kat?_

 

Ziva volunteered to be the one to actually go talk to Gibbs on the basis that she was the most likely to get through it without, as she put it, "displaying distracting emotion".

One of these days, Tony was going to have to have a talk with her about tact.

To quote _The Return of the King_ , however, today was not that day. This day, he would yield to Ziva and let her into Gibbs' room.

Armed with a framed picture of Kate and a (mostly) true explanation of events, Ziva went in and sat next to the bed.

Franks drifted up behind Tony. "That the Mossad girl?"

"Ziva," Tony said. "Wait, how'd you know her?"

Franks shrugged. "Probie's remembering a bit more. He's got a basic idea of who you all are now. He told me about you."

"And you didn't think to mention this because . . . ?" Tony said through gritted teeth.

Frank shrugged again. "He knows names and faces and not much else. That don't mean much in the grand scheme of things."

Tony's hopes plummeted again. "What about the terrorist? Does he remember anything about him?"

"Enough for a sketch."

So this was what being out of the loop felt like. He didn't like it.

He refocused on Ziva. Gibbs was looking agitated. Was that good or -

Ziva handed him the picture.

Gibbs hurled it across the room.

Ziva scooped it up as gently as if it were a baby bird and walked out.

Tony turned away.

He didn't need her to tell him the obvious.

It hadn't gone well.

 

Gibbs remembered bits. Pieces.

Enough to remember the terrorist's face, but not enough to stop the boat from being blown up.

Enough to remember that this wasn't the first time politics had led to the wrong call being made, but not enough to remember why he put up with it.

Enough to know that Ziva hadn't been lying when she'd told him about Kate, but not enough to understand what he'd been thinking or where it went wrong, only that it hurt.

He'd stood there in MTAC and watched those sailors die. He'd walked out and gone home, but whatever he'd expected, this hadn't been it.

It had been long time, or so they told him. He wasn't surprised to see differences in the house. Most came back to him in disjointed fragments.

Until he went upstairs. Upstairs was . . . Odd.

The hallway was littered with nails that pictures should have been hanging on, but aside from an occasional one of Kate, there was nothing there. His and Kelly's bedrooms had both been rearranged, and so had the guest bedroom.

The guest bedroom bothered him the most. A few basic pieces of furniture lingered in it, but it reminded him of a crime scene once the team had picked up all the personal effects as evidence. It was empty. Blank.

Well, it was a guest bedroom, wasn't it? It wasn't supposed to have character.

Except, unless he'd become the kind of man who dusted on a regular basis, someone had been living in it recently.

The sheets on the bed were rumpled like someone had made it hastily. Gibbs might not be much for housework, but he wasn't sloppy. He wouldn't have done that.

There were hooks in the ceiling - for model airplanes, maybe? - and a comic book, lost and forgotten under the bed.

Gibbs picked it up and flipped through it in a last ditch effort to find some clues.

Nothing.

Had this been Kate's room? It didn't fit with the scraps of memory he had of her.

The door creaked open downstairs. Gibbs dropped the comic book and put a hand to his gun. Shouldn't that door have been locked?

Why? When had he started locking it again?

Something tugged at his mind, but he didn't have time to examine it now. He eased into the hallway.

Franks was coming up the stairs. "Easy, probie. Just came to talk." He looked him over. "How you doing?"

Gibbs put his gun away. "I'm starting to get why you retired."

"Hard to keep fighting when you can't trust your own team," Franks agreed. "You thinkin' of joining me?"

_Yes_ , his brain said.

_No,_ his gut screamed.

It would be easier. Would probably be better for all involved, too. He could see what it was doing to the team he only vaguely remembered to see him like this.

DiNozzo had been working for him for a while, hadn't he? Maybe it was time he got a promotion.

So he'd tell Franks yes, then. Head down to Mexico. Get his head on straight.

Except.

Except he still didn't understand what had happened in the guest bedroom, and he didn't like to leave questions unanswered.

Except whoever and whatever Kate had been, walking away from her memory felt wrong.

Except Ziva was a ghost carrying iron to keep herself in check, Tim was working himself to death, and DiNozzo was drowning in an attempt to keep everyone else afloat.

But what use was he to them like this?

"Yeah," he said finally. "I've been thinking."

"And?"

Gibbs sighed. "And I don't know yet. Want some dinner? I think I have some steaks."

"Reckon you can stomach them now?"

Gibbs snorted and went to get them started.

He had three in his refrigerator. He got to work on two but frowned at the last one, because three was such an odd number for him to have.

 

"Thanks for your help the other night, Ziva. Don't think we could have gotten the place cleaned out in time on our own."

"Especially considering that you have no vehicle and could not drive one if you did."

"Hey, Gibbs was teaching us!" Tim protested.

Tony forced a smile. "Like I said. Thanks. Guess I need to thank Ducky again too, for letting us store it all at his place."

Ziva looked at him, eyes dark and serious. "Will you be staying with him?"

"Nah, it'd freak his mother out. I figured we'd try and find an apartment or something until Gibbs gets better. Your's got any vacancies?"

"You hate my apartment building."

"Like I said. Temporary."

"We hope," Tim muttered. "He's coming down from the director's office now."

Tony spun and watched him descend the steps. "Hey! Boss! You back to work already?"

"Nope." Gibbs walked over to his desk and gathered up an armload of paperwork before dumping it on Tony's. "You'll need that."

Tony's smile became fixed. "Why will I need that?"

"It's the senior agent's job to fill it out."

All the air went out of the room. "You're leaving," he managed to choke out.

"Yeah. On leave."

"Wait. What?"

"I'm taking six weeks leave. Your position's only temporary, DiNozzo, so don't get used to it. I'll be back."

There was a great Terminator reference just begging to be made there, but even with that one speck of good news, Tony just didn't have the heart.

Or he didn't, until Gibbs walked into the elevator just as Abby came flying into the bullpen. Gibbs didn't look back which left Tony to deal with an Abby on the verge of hysteria, a McGeek trying to become one with his computer so he wouldn't have to think, and a Mossad agent who'd had to deal with one too many revelations in recent days and was either about to go on a killing spree or excuse herself to break down in private, Tony wasn't sure which.

How he felt didn't matter. Gibbs wasn't here, so he was in charge now. Gibbs wasn't here, so he'd have to be Gibbs.

So he forced a joke to lighten the mood and started making plans involving off the rack suits and coffee in the hopes that if he could learn to mirror Gibbs one way, the rest would come in time.

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo took care of all that.

Tony took advantage of being temporarily forgotten and went and locked himself away in his head someplace safe where no one could find him.

Being ignored was an old, familiar wound. Being forgotten was agony.

Hiding, at least, was a _choice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, Franks. My feelings about him can probably best be summarized by my opinion of his last line: Undeniably cool in a cowboy sort of way, but he provoked an unnecessary fight that hurt Gibbs and the team. He can be helpful at times, but his disregard for legality makes Gibbs look by the book, and, more specifically, his run around and eventual physical altercation with Tony made me lose most of my sympathy for him.
> 
> Although this chapter introduces him, I know it doesn't spend much time with him. A better title might have been "Hiatus" but a) I wanted to keep up my naming scheme, b) I try not to steal titles from episodes, and c) I thought it might give you the mistaken impression that I was going on hiatus.
> 
> Episodes referenced include "Hiatus: Part One", "Hiatus: Part Two", and either "Engaged: Part One" or "Engaged: Part Two", I'm not sure which.
> 
> Up until "Engaged", if you'd asked me if I thought Tony's character was religious, I would have said no. But then in that episode when he's alone in the chapel, he starts talking to God, and it's obvious he's done it before. His faith comes across as struggling and complicated. He doesn't seem to doubt that God's there, but he's angry at the lack of direct communication. Yet he starts the prayer in an almost conciliatory manner, and he's not overly formal or stiff. He's holding a conversation, one in which he mentions a deal that's never explained but that I've always assumed had something to do with protecting the team, and he asks if his efforts are good enough. He demands some kind of response - and interestingly, that's when the show writers had the chaplain show up.
> 
> We don't know how he came by his beliefs, or even the details on what those beliefs are, but I just don't see Sr. as a churchgoing man, and him converting later in life didn't seem to quite ring true, so I thought it most likely his mother was religious. I might be wrong, but it was the best theory I could think of.
> 
> There were three paths I considered when it came to these episodes: quick angst followed by mounds of fluff, intense relationship shattering angst that probably couldn't realistically be fixed but that I was going to pretend could be, or a more moderate middle path. Believe it or not, this is the middle road.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter title: Memory.


	12. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts don't deal well with change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief references to non-suicidal self harm.

_Week One_

Very Special Agent DiNozzo juggled paperwork, Abby, and the new case they were assigned.

The director was starting to give him these looks. They made him nervous.

Not knowing at what point in his leave Gibbs would return at, they didn't dare return to the house. Instead, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo managed to secure him and Tim an apartment.

It wasn't actually in Ziva's building, but it was in the same neighborhood, and it was definitely made from the same mold.

Tim protested. DiNozzo countered with the fact that it was the only place that hadn't asked for proof of life.

Tim started a graphic of cockroach sightings and emailed him an updated version daily.

McGeek had definitely learned the art of passive aggression. He ought to congratulate him.

DiNozzo pasted on his flashiest, most manufactured grin and sent Agent Lee out for more coffee. He still hadn't choked down the rest of his last one, but the others didn't have to know that, and maybe it would be more palatable hot.

 

_Week Two_

DiNozzo was considering getting a t-shirt that said, "No, I have not heard from Gibbs."

That would take time, though, and he didn't have time. He had a case, a legalistic probie that was making him nervous, and a Mossad assassin to protect from police brutality charges.

Make that two cases.

He brought the case files home and didn't bother letting go of the illusion that he was in his thirties. It was about time he grew up.

They weren't on call this weekend. All he had to do was get through tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when he had a meeting with the director.

He resisted the urge to whimper.

 

_Week Three_

There was a part of him that wanted to start laughing. If he started though, he was pretty sure he wouldn't stop until they tried to sedate him, failed, figured out why, and salted him. With that in mind, he shoved it into the same corner of his mind he'd locked Tony away in and kept the key handy. He had no intention of letting anything in that closet out anytime soon, but he very much suspected he'd be throwing more portions of himself into it.

Undercover work. He could do undercover work. He could pretend to be a porter, a homeless musician, and a waiter. He could even do it without backup.

He could make Abby smile and stop Ducky from worrying. He could set up roach motels for Tim and defend Ziva from Legal. He could deflect Lee's questions and solve cases. He could do paperwork.

The only reason he could do it all at the same time was the fact that he didn't need to sleep.

How did Gibbs do it?

 

_Week Four_

"Are you all right, Tony?"

_Tony's not here right now, Ziva. May I take a message?_

She seemed genuinely concerned though, so he smiled and said he was fine. Then he went up to Abby's lab to check on her results.

The pictures of Gibbs she'd put up on the walls hit him like an iron pipe to the gut, but he was fine, so he kept smiling.

They only had to hold out for two more weeks. This was fine.

Of course, Gibbs still might not be Gibbs when he came back, a thought that sparked an active desire to go kill something.

It was his job to stop them from all going blood mad now, though, so in the interest of setting a good example, he went and beat up a punching bag instead.

He was only able to go at it for five minutes. After that, he had to get back to work.

Director's orders.

 

_Week Five_

DiNozzo tried to make a couple of steaks.

After trying to figure out the mystery of how something could both taste like burnt rubber and be frozen in the middle, he gave up and took Tim to the Rooftop Grill.

Between the line for a table and the prep time for the food, they waited three hours, and it still wasn't as good as Gibbs'.

He ate it anyway because the director'd been hinting about a new type of assignment, and he was going to need his strength for this.

 

_Week Six_

McNerd put up a countdown clock on the big screen. They all watched the numbers tick down out of the corner of their eyes like that clock held the secrets of the universe.

DiNozzo had to admit, though, he was starting to fall into the rhythm of things. He could do this.

In the back of his mind, Tony wanted Gibbs more than ever, but Tony no longer got a say.

He wondered if this was what if felt like to become your cover.

After yet another meeting with the director, he stopped worrying about that and started worrying about more important things.

Like the fact that she'd given him two weeks to establish contact with a certain Jeanne Benoit.

Contact he could do. But the director wanted him to establish a relationship with her.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, laugh, or whimper, but none of those things were very professional, so he just stared at his computer screen and pretended he was doing actual work.

 

_Last Day_

Agent Lee packed up her things and said her goodbyes.

They'd wrapped up their latest case and hadn't caught another one, so DiNozzo told them they were free to go earlier than usual.

No one moved from their desk.

As the night went on and fewer and fewer agents passed by, they became steadily less professional. Abby came down with arms full of salt free, lab baked treats that they piled in the middle of the bullpen and steadily munched through. Their desks were abandoned in favor of a campfire like huddle huddle around the sugary mountain. The clock ticked down slowly in the background.

Abby passed out around two. Tim leaned up against her. DiNozzo used Tim's legs as a pillow. Ziva started launching cookie crumbs at both of them.

Two hours before the workday started, they cleaned up the remains of the feast. One hour before the workday started, they woke up Abby and went to go change their appearances.

Half an hour before it officially started, they sat down at their desks and tried to look like model agents. Twenty minutes till, Lee walked by on her way to legal. They waved.

Ten minutes till, they were glancing at the elevator doors more than they were working. Five minutes till, they were blatantly staring.

Four minutes.

Gibbs had never waited this long to come to work before.

Three.

Abby started bouncing.

Two.

He was still coming, wasn't he?

One.

_Ding._

They jumped to their feet. The doors slip open. Gibbs strolled out. He had a coffee.

And a mustache.

Abby ran forward and flung herself at him, squealing, "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!"

Ziva smiled.

Tony has lurched forward, but DiNozzo pushed him ruthlessly back. He glanced at Tim and shook his head.

Tim evidently agreed with his assessment.

Maybe it was just a mustache though. Maybe everything would be fine.

Gibbs had gone stiff under the hug and was awkward returning it. "Hey, Abby."

Abby didn't seem to notice.

DiNozzo swallowed hard. "Hey, Boss," he said with forced cheer. "Glad to have you back. How was your leave?"

Gibbs shrugged. "It was."

"We are very pleased to have you back," Ziva volunteered.

"Have you seen Ducky yet?" Tim asked.

Gibbs sat down at his desk and started sorting things out. "Nope. He need something?"

"Well, you know. Just to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Tony sank back down behind his desk and told himself that he, like Gibbs, was fine.

 

Ziva was fine. Mossad officers did not complain about petty things. She was fine with Gibbs accidentally calling her Kate, she was fine with Tony hiding behind masks so thick she could not see the end of them, and she was fine with Tim struggling to swim in this sea of newness and not realizing that his desperate strokes were lashing out and hitting others. She was fine with the fact that the man who had accepted her state of being without question or hesitation was doubting her abilities because of the age she had been at when she died. She was fine with Abby living in a state of denial. She was fine.

She had pressed the iron knife against her skin last night in an attempt to subdue the roaring of her thoughts, but she was fine.

 

Tim was fine. Gibbs seemed to think his skills with tech were second class when compared with traditional fieldwork, and he had a biting tongue to prove it, but Tim was used to people like that. He was fine with being yelled at, he was fine with Tony retreating into some place in his head that Tim couldn't reach, and he was fine with living in an apartment that was a crime scene waiting to happen. He was fine with the fact that his family was falling apart. He was fine with the fact that Tony went out at night and he had no idea where he went. He was fine.

He'd nearly slipped up and spilled everything to Gibbs he didn't know how many times now, but Gibbs didn't seem to be paying attention, so he was fine.

 

Gibbs was fine. He could tell everyone around him was waiting for something, he knew that he was somehow inadequate in their eyes, but he didn't care, so he was fine. He felt lost in his own life, nothing was fitting together, and he could see how he was hurting them, but he was fine. He was still grieving, but he was fine.

He felt like he was going mad in an empty, silent house where nothing made sense, but he was fine.

 

DiNozzo was fine. He wasn't drowning in work anymore. He was still drowning in an attempt to keep everyone working together, Tim kept lashing out, and Gibbs was treating him like a stranger, but he was fine. He was a federal agent. He could handle it, just like he could figure a way out of the director's new assignment.

He'd reverted to acting out to get attention, but he was fine.

 

_One Week Later_

It wasn't like Gibbs was ignoring him. It was just that Gibbs knew he was a competent investigator and so felt comfortable issuing a few brief orders and then moving on. Being the functional mute that he was, Gibbs didn't see the need to say anything more than that.

DiNozzo needed more than that. He needed Gibbs to pay attention. He needed Gibbs to ask him what was going on. He needed -

Something. So he talked. Maybe something he said would jog Gibbs' memory.

Tim tossed him the clicker and he strolled up to the screen. "Petty Officer First Class John Inglass. No black marks on his record, but no commendations either. No family, no close friends - He's a blank slate. Which leaves us with only one question." He clicked the button to pull up a picture of the victim the night they were killed, caught by a security camera. "Who would be caught dead in that outfit?"

He'd been prepared for exasperation. Maybe a lecture, maybe just a glance heavenward, maybe even a growl.

He hadn't even dreamed of this.

Gibbs hit him.

 _Gibbs_ hit him. That wasn't - he didn't -

He reached up numbly to rub the spot on his head that had been hit with Gibbs' open palm. It didn't hurt, of course, but he could feel the force that must have been behind it. It had been meant to hurt.

And Gibbs just continued on like it was nothing. Like it didn't even matter.

He and Kate had never come to a conclusion in their argument about whether or not ghosts could throw up, but he thought he might be about to find out.

DiNozzo put on a strained smile and tried to continue, but Tony was done. He couldn't - he didn't -

Tony bolted for the stairs. He managed to choke out something that sounded vaguely like "coffee" as he ran.

The federal agent in him started trying to think it through as he fled down the stairs.

The kid just knew that at least his dad had been drunk and had only thrown things. There was always the consolation that he probably hadn't really meant to hit him and that it took so much to make him drunk that it probably wouldn't happen again soon.

This was deliberate and unpredictable, and he couldn't do this anymore. He wanted to go home.

But home was Gibbs, so home wasn't an option.

 

Gibbs had vivid memories of Mike Franks cuffing him on the back of the head. It was a wakeup call and a reproof but also a sign of affection. He couldn't remember ever giving anyone on the team one before, but he couldn't imagine that he hadn't.

So what on earth was DiNozzo doing, and why were the others staring at him like that?

McGee half-stood as if to go after him.

"McGee!" he barked.

McGee looked between him and the door. "Boss, I - " He swallowed his nerves and found a spine. "He really doesn't need to be alone right now."

Gibbs was done with cryptic hints and half remembered fragments. "You care to explain that?"

McGee gulped. "I'd rather not, Boss."

Ziva spoke up. "We had some trying cases while you were on leave. Tony is still feeling a bit leapy, that is all."

"Jump," McGee corrected.

"Yes, jumpy, thank you."

"We're in the middle of a case. He needs to get over it," Gibbs growled. "What do you got?"

Ziva jumped up and claimed the clicker. "I talked with his CO about his assignment . . . "

Thirty minutes later, DiNozzo showed back up with four coffees and an over bright smile. He didn't look any of them in the eye as he passed them out.

"DiNozzo. My office, now."

His phone rang. He snatched it up irritably. Once he'd heard the message, he slammed it down again. "The director wants you in her office."

If it was possible, DiNozzo went even paler than before.

The whole day went like that. Every time he thought he would have a chance to corner him, something came up. He'd hoped to talk with him at the end of the day once he'd dismissed the others, but DiNozzo managed to slip past him.

Something was tugging on the ragged edge of his memory, but Gibbs couldn't for the life of him figure out what.

Well, they had said that he was jumpy due to a case, hadn't they? He hadn't gone through all their reports from his absence yet. Maybe one of those could shed some light on this.

He'd shoved most of them into a drawer earlier just to get them off his desk so he could work. He pulled them out now and piled them back up.

There was a stack of thick red files on the bottom of the drawer that he could vaguely remember putting there. He wasn't sure what was in it, though.

That mystery, at least, was easily solved. He picked up the top one and flipped it open.

A copy of a report of some kind greeted him. He'd gone to investigate a murder at a hotel, but that served as more of an introduction than the focus. While on the case, he'd discovered an unrelated, improperly buried body. Flipping through the other documents, he could see the case had been transferred, but he'd remained involved.

The name of the victim finally caught his eye.

Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. A bright picture of a smiling kid was clipped onto one of the documents.

That wasn't -

Murky memory started to emerge and clarify itself.

He flipped frantically through medical examiner's reports and transcripts of interviews. They'd gone after Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. There'd been a trial -

He didn't have to look through the rest to remember that thanks to some high priced weasel work from his lawyers, he'd gotten off.

An agent reporting what a ghost had told him was not considered reliable and thus, was dismissed in court.

There'd been other tricks, too, he remembered now. Technicalities and statues of limitations and he didn't know what all else. More than anything else, he remembered a rising red haze of rage . . .

And the trusting eyes of a little boy so sure that he would take care of it.

Gibbs had been ready to go make some judicious use of his old rifle. Tony had shown up with a stack of files and ideas for how to keep trying.

They couldn't get him for Tony's death, but a man like that wasn't clean as a whistle, was he? There were other things.

Fraud. Tax evasion. Endless references to how they'd caught Al Capone from Tony, if he remembered correctly.

The mounting evidence for these efforts filled out the back of the file, but there wasn't a conclusion. They hadn't finished yet.

The other files spilled out onto the desk.

Tim's. Too late to get his father for what he'd put his son through, but maybe not too late to find something else.

Ziva's. Hints of the thing's she'd done for Mossad and a growing stack of documents he could use if anyone ever tried to take her back and she didn't feel inclined to go.

And then, on the very bottom, Kate's. No crimes there, just a list of phone numbers and addresses just in case Kate ever changed her mind and wanted to talk to her family.

She hadn't gotten the chance to, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to throw the file away.

He remembered all that now. Just like he remembered Tony's too-casual "He's like one of those plants that wilts if you're mean to them," comment about Tim, and Tim's pained confession of what his father had said at the funeral. Just like he remembered the way Tony had flinched back from him every time circumstances changed as if he was afraid that this would be what sent Gibbs over the edge.

Oh, he remembered all right.

What had he _done?_

The elevator dinged and opened onto a darkened bullpen. Ziva got out and hurried over to her desk.

"Gibbs," she said in greeting as she rooted through her desk. "Ah-hah!" She held up a forgotten phone up triumphantly. She looked back over at him, frowning. "You are working late. Would you like some assistance?"

Gibbs grabbed his keys and jacket as he headed for the elevator. "Where are Tony and Tim?"

"At home. As I said, it is late. Do we have a case?" She hurried after him.

"They haven't been home since they cleaned out their bedrooms," he snapped. "Where are they?"

Realization dawned on her face. "You remember."

"You think?" Gibbs said sarcastically. He punched the elevator buttons with a little more force than was necessary. "I need to fix this."

Ziva rattled off an address for a part of town that made the knot in Gibbs' chest swell. He shot out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened and headed for his car.

"Gibbs," she called. "It is good to have you back." There was more emotion in her voice than he'd heard her allow herself in a long time.

"Good to see you again too, Ziver."

He remembered other things too. Knives, tinged eyes, and talk of missions that began far too young.

He needed to fix those things too, but she still hadn't quite let him in, not yet, and until then, all he could do was make sure she knew he was there, waiting and watching.

He got into his car and threw it into reverse so he could get out of the parking space. With little to no traffic, it would take most people thirty minutes to get to his kids' apartment.

Gibbs figured he could do it in half that.

Possibly less.

 

The apartment building smelled like cigarette smoke, stale alcohol, and trash overdue for taking out. The stains in the rug in the hallway reminded him of the aftermath of a crime scene.

The door he was looking for was at the end of the hallway. Someone had at least made an effort there. The numbers on the door were straight and there was the slightly overwhelming scent that always resulted when someone tried to use air freshener for the first time.

Gibbs felt a bit sick, but not from the smell. He wasn't sure where they'd stand after tonight, but he _was_ sure that they wouldn't be staying here. If they wouldn't come home, they could at least get an apartment under his name to get around the proof of life clauses.

He wouldn't let it come to that. They'd come home.

They had to come home.

He banged on the door until Tony yanked it open.

"Boss," he said in surprise. "What are you doing here? Did we catch a case? I could have sworn my phone was on . . . "

Tony was still in his agent guise. It was too neatly done for it to have been a spur of the moment change prompted by the knocking. He must not have reverted back when he got home.

"You gonna leave me out here in the hall, or can I come in?"

Tony backed up hurriedly, pulling the door with him. "Oh, yeah. Right, sorry. Have a seat." He waved his arm at a threadbare couch with lumpy cushions that looked like it had been parked in the same spot for twenty years.

Gibbs eyed it critically. "Even for a ghost, that can't be comfortable."

Tim would have stuttered and started babbling something. Tony never skipped a beat.

"Well, it's not like I make a habit of inviting them over, so I wouldn't know. There are some chairs in the kitchen area if you'd rather - "

"Tony. I remember."

Tony's monologue stuttered to a halt. His face had gone pale and tight. "Remember what, exactly?"

Gibbs stepped toward him but stopped when Tony flinched back. "I remember meeting you six years ago at a hotel that you never should have been left alone at. I remember us fighting to see justice done for it. I remember that we're still fighting for that. I know about Kate. I know about Tim. I know about Ziva. I remember, Tony."

Tears had started creeping down Tony's face. "Gibbs?" he whispered.

He let Gibbs walk forward this time until he was within arm's reach of him. "I remember that I never should have left you alone like that, and I'm sorry."

"Rule six," Tony choked out.

"Not between us. Not between family." Tony was shaking, the edges of his form trembling a little. Gibbs sighed. "Come 'ere, kid."

Shifting to a new form could be time consuming, but reverting back was easier. It was a kid that wrapped his arms around Gibbs, form still shaking far too hard, shoes now far too large for his feet.

Gibbs knelt down next to him and wrapped his own arms around him, rubbing his back to soothe him. "It's all right. It's gonna be okay." Tony's head was pressed into his shoulder. He reached up and cupped it gently, hand covering the place he'd hit him earlier. "I didn't mean to hurt you, kid. I'm sorry." Twice in one night, and he'd say it again when he found out where Tim was.

It needed to be said. No shame in it among family.

"S'okay," Tony whispered.

It wasn't, but he needed that easy forgiveness too much to argue with it. "You took care of the team while I was gone. You did good."

The shaking had eased. "Didn't feel like it," Tony muttered. "It wasn't enough."

"It never feels like it," Gibbs agreed. He knew that feeling all too well. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't."

Tony let him go and stepped back to quickly scrub away the tears staining his face. He didn't go far though, seemingly hesitant to be more than a few inches from Gibbs.

Gibbs couldn't say he minded. He eased himself down onto the floor. It looked cleaner than the couch. "Where's Tim?"

"Grocery shopping," Tony said promptly. "It's his week. He should be back soon." He frowned. "What time is it?"

Gibbs checked his watch. "10:00. Was he supposed to be back already?"

Tony bit his lip. "No, he's fine, I've just got . . . Somewhere to be."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Gonna have to do better than that, kid.

Tony squirmed. "I wasn't supposed to tell you," he finally let out in a rush.

"Wasn't supposed to tell me what?" Gibbs asked in a voice that was deceptively mild.

"The director's got me running side missions." The words ran together like Tony hoped they would be more acceptable as a jumbled whole than they would be otherwise.

"Who's your backup?" Not Tim, surely. Ziva, maybe?

Judging by how uneasy Tony looked, he wasn't going to like what came next.

"Jen-The director keeps an eye on me through MTAC."

And, once again, his gut instinct was proven right. What was Jen thinking?

"And what's she going to do if something happens and you're thirty minutes away?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony winced. "Get revenge?" he suggested.

Gibbs growled.

"I've got it, really," Tony insisted. "It's just the one she wants me to start by next week that's a problem." He took a deep breath. "See, there's this arms dealer, Le Granouille. He's who we've been going after, and he's got a thirty-something year-old daughter. The director wants me to, you know, start up a relationship with her." Tony's voice took on a pleading note. "I was hoping you could get me out of it?"

Gibbs resisted the urge to start shouting and took a deep breath. The words still came out as a growl. "I'll take care of it."

Tony slid down the wall and slumped to the floor in relief. "Good. Because I had no idea what I was going to do. Oh, hey, McTardy! Look who's here!"

The door had eased open to reveal an overburdened Tim struggling with armloads of plastic bags. "A little help here, Tony?" He looked over in their direction for the first time. The bags slid off his arms and crashed to the floor. "Gibbs! What are you doing here?"

Gibbs pushed himself to his feet. "Solving a case."

"Boss?"

"Someone left a page from a comic book under the guest bed, and it wasn't me. Not really a guest bed either, come to find out."

"I don't - "

Tony spoke up for the first time. "You can stop tallying up cockroach sightings. We're going home."

Tim's eyes looked over bright. "You - you remember?" he checked.

"Yeah, Tim. I do. I'm sorry."

Tim crashed into him and latched on like his life depended on it. Gibbs held on just as tightly.

He could give the director a piece of his mind in the morning. For now, he just held onto the fact that the kids were safe, and that they were his.

 

The next morning, the mustache was gone.

Gibbs left Abby in the midst of planning a "Gibbs' Got His Memory Back" party to go talk to the director.

Well, talk to the director, shout at the director, threaten the director . . . As long as he got his way in the end, the rest was just semantics as far as he was considered.

"You shouldn't have kept it from me, Jen."

"You didn't need to know. And now that you do, I expect you to stay out of the way."

"Now that I know, it's over. All of it."

"Last I checked, you weren't the director."

"Last I checked, you didn't want your entire major crimes response team to resign," Gibbs growled. "I don't care how good he is undercover, you've proven that you're not watching his back. You trying to get him killed out there?"

"He was fine."

"If he hadn't been, you would have had to answer to me!" Gibbs erupted. "He's out, Jen!"

Jen just raised her eyebrows at him. "Have you asked him how he feels about this, Gibbs?"

Gibbs knew all too well how Tony felt about it, but he wasn't about to get him in trouble with the director. "My team, my lead."

"He's been on your team for six years now," she pointed out. "He's an exemplary agent. Don't you think it's about time he got his own team?"

Gibbs snorted. "He's happy where he is, Jen. Trust me."

"Trust seems to be in short supply recently," she said pointedly. "I'd prefer to hear that from Agent DiNozzo himself, especially with the Rota position recently opened up."

Gibbs just shook his head and laughed. "You ask him if you want, then. But he's not going on any mission that the rest of the team isn't. If I find out he is - and I will find out - you won't like the consequences." He let the door bang shut behind him.

The director called Tony up to her office. When he came back down, he was shaking his head.

Gibbs didn't look up from his computer screen. "She offer you Rota?"

"Got it in one."

Ziva looked up sharply. "You are going to Spain?"

Tony sat down and leaned back in his chair. "What, and leave all of you here?" He grinned at her. "The quiet would drive you mad in a week."

Less, Gibbs thought, but didn't say.

He couldn't quite fight back a small, quick smile, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Season Four in general. I pulled Le Granoiulle stuff from all over the place and bits and pieces of Gibbs return and what they got up to without him from the early episodes in it, specifically "Singled Out". The functional mute line is from "Truth or Consequences".
> 
> For the record, on the show, I think that the head slaps are meant to show affection, wake Tony up, etc. HOWEVER, I felt like, under these different circumstances, it might not be well received by Tony.
> 
> I was tempted to include a bit on "Twisted Sister", but it didn't really fit in this chapter or the next one. I might do some timeline twisting and stick it in later. We'll see.
> 
> Next up: Vance.


	13. Vance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team has each others' backs, Vance gets a headache, and Ziva starts to deal with her poor coping methods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know what happened in the episodes where Vance became director. Adapting them for this AU was a challenge because I didn't think much would have changed, and there's no point in writing this story if nothing's changed. I couldn't just skip those chapters, so I experimented with a different way of telling the story instead. If you don't like it, don't worry - the next chapter will be business as usual, format wise. (Or, at least, that's the plan.)

Vance called them all in individually to give a statement.

Tony asked him if he wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Five minutes into his statement, it had already become apparent that they had very different interpretations of the phrase "whole truth" and that Vance wasn't prepared to believe certain truths.

Tony edited his statement accordingly.

So he gave Vance the bullet points.

He did _not_ tell him that the story really started a year ago when Gibbs and Jenny had a knockdown, drag out fight that caused a permanent rift over the use of agency resources.

Or, in other words, him.

 

_One Year Earlier_

"Morning, Ziva."

"Good morning, McGee." She set her bag down on her desk before glancing around the bullpen and frowning. "What is wrong with Tony? And where is Gibbs?"

"Gibbs is in the director's office," Tim informed her. "Tony is . . . being Tony."

Tony was hunched over his desk, head buried in his arms. "It's like being in the middle of the most bizarre custody battle ever," he moaned. "Or like a game of tug-of-war. Where I'm the rope."

Ziva frowned. "They are fighting again? This is the second time this week."

"Third," Tim corrected her. "You'd already gone home when they started up yesterday."

Tony groaned again. "I'm not even sure it's about me anymore. I keep hearing something about Paris."

"What happened in Paris?" Ziva asked as she sat down.

"I'm not sure anyone besides them knows."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to know," Tim said.

"Oh, come on, probie. You've got to be at least a little curious."

"Curious about what, DiNozzo?"

Tony straightened instantly. "Nothing, Boss. Everything go okay with the director?"

Gibbs expression did not encourage further discussion on the topic.

McGee somehow managed to miss the tension in the room and jumped in anyway. "You know, Abby volunteered to make a voodoo doll of her."

"What is the purpose of a voodoo doll?"

"Or, more importantly, it's specific one here?"

Three pairs of eyes swung towards the stairs. Gibbs ignored her.

Tony tried for a smile. "Madam Director."

Her expression was ice. "My office. Now."

The phone rang. Gibbs snatched it up, gave a quick confirmation, and sat it down again. "Caught a case. You'll have to wait, Director."

The three younger agents hurried towards the elevator before Gibbs and Shepherd could stop merely glaring daggers at each other and start throwing them instead.

"That's the second time that's happened," Tony mused. "You've gotta think our luck's gonna run out eventually."

"I could start leaving bodies in places where they would be found at about this time," Ziva suggest.

"Murder is not actually the solution to everything, Ziva."

"I would not have to kill anyone. I could simply dig bodies up and leave them to be found."

"Like a really morbid Easter egg hunt."

"Tony, stop."

"Ah, you're no fun, McProbie."

 

Vance had learned his lesson from Tony. He told Ziva to start with Director Shepherd leaving for L.A.

Ziva did as she was told.

She did _not_ tell him that the story started eleven months ago when Gibbs won her loyalty without trying or that the story had continued six months ago when, too late, she was told to choose a side.

She did not tell him that her team had gone out of their way to make sure she did not have to kill, and, because of that, she would fill the oceans with blood for them.

She did not tell him that Tony was teaching her how to use English figures of speech.

She did not tell him that she had not been using one.

 

She had heard that there were some agents that never had to fire a gun. How there could be such agents when her team was fighting for - well, not fighting for their lives, but fighting anyway - every few weeks, she did not understand.

The thought was too close to complaining however, so she set it aside. Her father did not improve of complaining of the unfairness of life.

Battle itself did not bother her, nor did the necessity of killing those who would have done her team harm.

The longing for those kills and the pleasure they brought her, however, frightened her when she dared to think of it.

What would be, would be. To sit in the dark through the long, empty nights and fear it was childish and stupid.

But the gyms only stayed open so late, and the confused noises on the television seemed even more pointless than silence.

Not that there was ever any true silence anymore. On the good nights, she could hear her neighbors arguing far into the night and could hear the rats scratching in the walls when they at last fell silent.

On the bad nights, all she could hear was the pressing roar in her mind. The iron drew the noise away, but Gibbs did not like the iron, and whenever she pressed it to her palm, she could feel his disapproval like a physical force even though there was no way he could possibly know what she had done the night before.

The case this time had led them to a dilapidated barn surrounded by tall grass where five men had protested their presence through gunfire.

The gunshots had fallen silent, but the shining blood of the two she had killed still called to her. It pooled, wasted, in the dirt. Need for it thrummed through her. The kills had sent a bolt of energy through her, but if she could just reach the results -

Better yet, a heart still pulsed. There was still life, hot and tangible, to be stolen for herself. Still warmth yet to be claimed to wash away the cool chill of her existence.

More than thirst or hunger ever had, the need _hurt_.

Ziva refused to do something as obvious as grit her teeth, but she could feel her face settle into something harder as she forced herself to pull out her iron knife. The movement came slowly, trancelike. It was hard to think through the haze. Hard to move in any direction instead of that of the life giving blood.

Yet for some reason, the warmth was moving towards her. She forced herself to remain still as a warm hand encircled her wrist and prevented her from unsheathing her knife.

It took all her willpower not to reach for the beating heart.

"Ziva," a voice said firmly. "Ziva, look at me. You're alright. You don't need this."

It was loud inside her head, a rushing noise building into a roar amongst the fog. The metal would be cold enough to steal away the borrowed heat that was clouding her head. It could weaken the roar enough to make things quiet once more.

"Ziver, you don't need this. You're stronger than this. You can beat it."

Gibbs, she connected dimly. It was Gibbs who was gripping her arm. Gibbs, not just a nameless source of heat.

"Boss, maybe you should stay back - "

"We've got a case to finish up, Ziva. I need you with me."

She took a deep, useless breath and let the still cool spring air do what Gibbs would not allow the metal to do.

Duty. That was important. She had a job to do.

There was . . . a hand. In her hair. Not yanking, as had happened before, or clinical, like someone arranging it to prepare for a mission.

Gentle. Stroking. Like hadn't happened since she was newly dead and Ari had tried to comfort her.

She could feel the heat through it as she hadn't when she was alive. It felt . . . nice. Human.

And, as her head cleared, slightly humiliating. Gibbs was right. She was supposed to be stronger than that.

She straightened. "I have recovered. I apologize." She refused to look at either Gibbs or her teammates. _They_ had not lost control. _They_ had not required restraint. _They_ had not been thinking of Gibbs as nothing more than the pints of blood in his veins. _They_ had not had to be comforted like a child.

They had not had as many kills as she had, but if there was one thing Eli David had taught her, it was that weakness could have no excuse.

"Nothing to apologize for," Gibbs said quietly. "You did fine."

She shook her head in disgust. She was losing control.

Gibbs reached for her knife. She tightened her grip on it instinctively before she realized what she was doing and yielded it to him reluctantly.

She wasn't sure what she had expected, but Gibbs flinging it into the long grass that bordered the property wasn't it.

A protest blossomed on her lips, but Gibbs' glare kept it from being aired.

"No more," he told her.

"Gibbs - "

"No more. You got a problem, you come to me."

It was not that simple, and she would have thought that Gibbs of all people would understand that.

"I can handle this on my own," she insisted. _I am not weak._

"But you don't have to," Tony said with an intensity she would not have thought him capable of. "We get it, Ziva. Better than anyone else could."

She nodded, half believing, half just wanting this conversation to end.

She waited until the bullpen was dark and the others were busy elsewhere before approaching Gibbs that night.

"It is a valid Mossad technique, you realize," she told him, hating the defensive note that had crept into her voice.

"My team, my rules," Gibbs countered. "Come on."

She hurried after him. "Where are we going?"

"Shooting range."

"I am more than proficient already, Gibbs."

"Can you hit a moving target in the leg consistently?"

"No. I do not have to. Procedure states - "

"I can," Gibbs interrupted. "And procedure's not worth the paper it's written on in a situation like yours. You've got different needs and different skills."

"So?"

"There's more than one way to stop a man, Ziva. You don't always have to aim for the heart."

The noise of bullets cracking through the air long into the night, with Gibbs steady beside her and Tony and Tim competing close by, drowned out the rushing in her ears.

She was skilled with her weapon. She learned quickly. She could hit a running suspect in the leg now.

Which did not change the fact she rarely got a chance.

Tony and Gibbs had made a habit of poaching her targets out from under her whether she was shooting to kill or not. It was stupid, dangerous, and infuriating, but she did not tell them to stop.

She could think more clearly than she had in years, and their actions, foolish and unnecessary as they were, were also almost . . . sweet.

Tim, although not hopeless with his weapon, was not fast enough to steal her targets. Instead, he talked about scientific studies and statistics until her eyes cleared and the chatter had drowned out the noise in her head.

Also sweet. Somewhat annoying, but sweet, and that was not a word she was accustomed to using.

She was accustomed to protecting others. Falling into a pattern of being protected in return took effort, but it was satisfying.

Which made it natural, when Tony was distracted with shooting the two thugs advancing on them from the front, to throw herself between his unprotected back and the third thug's iron pipe.

She had grown unaccustomed to iron's icy bite. Her whole body went to mist for a moment as it devoured her strength, but she shook it off before the weapons she carried inside of herself could fall more than an inch.

Her gun was already ready in her hand. Their attacker had stumbled back in shock, giving her room to swing it up, jam it into his right shoulder, and fire.

Sweet blood spurted out as he dropped the pipe and cried out in pain. The pipe clanged against the concrete and settled a mere inch from her foot.

She ignored it and pulled out her cuffs.

"Ziva? Ziva, are you all right?"

"I am fine," she assured Tony. Better off than he would have been, at least. She had strength and will to spare. She would not vanish like a vapor at the touch of iron, even if she would drift through the day a bit more listlessly than was her custom.

She did what she could so that they would not have to, making up for their weaknesses as they did for hers. That was teamwork, was it not?

Gibbs might have been pleased at her explanation for her actions, or he might have been too furious at the situation itself to care what her reasoning had been. With Gibbs, it was hard to tell.

He did not revoke Tony's invitation to come over that night for steaks, however, which she took as a good sign.

Hot, fresh meat would do her good, she knew, so she accepted the invitation.

The dinner was . . . nice, much the way being protected was nice. Unexpected and good, but not familiar enough for her to be entirely comfortable with. It was odd to see Tony and Tim in their younger forms, but it made her even more glad she had stepped between Tony and the pipe. He was still so young in so many ways. So vulnerable. That was worth protecting, yes?

It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to be that young, that small, that vulnerable. Her form ached at the memory, suddenly feeling stretched and tired.

She made her excuses and left quickly. She did not stay for the movie despite Tony's pleading.

Some things were dangerous, even for a ghost. Wanting something that could never be attained was one of them.

Still, when the next case proved to be politically tricky and the director came to her for an update, she did not respond as she would have expected herself to.

There was a complicated net of debts between them, one that could never be completely untangled. She owed it to the director to be honest with her, just as the director had owed her the opportunity to take this job.

But there was a silent war waging between Gibbs and the director, and it was no longer a matter of picking sides, but rather being loyal to the one she'd sworn herself to without quite realizing it.

"I am sure Gibbs will have a report on your desk very soon, Director," she said instead of answering.

The director's smile was tight and strained.

Her father would have told her that the director of NCIS was a far more valuable ally than Gibbs. It was not worth losing a position of trust with her for the small reward of Gibbs being satisfied. Not grateful, not even truly pleased, just satisfied.

And yet the desk felt a little more hers for having done it, and she could not bring herself to regret it.

Especially when midnight came around and the roaring in her ears competed with the ticking of the clock, only to be interrupted by the ringing of her phone.

Sometimes it was Tim, speaking in a language that he claimed was English but that she barely understood. Sometimes it was Tony, talking effortlessly until dawn.

But sometimes it was Gibbs, sacrificing the sleep that none of the rest of them needed, just so she could know that someone was listening while she talked of things she had thought were forever condemned to the dark.

 

Vance told McGee to use his best judgement when deciding what he needed to hear about.

So Tim told him about losing contact with the director and about Tony and Ziva's efforts to find her.

As Vance intended, he did _not_ tell him about any hacking or other federally discouraged activities that may or may not have been done.

He also didn't tell Vance what Gibbs and Franks had done or what help they might or might not have received.

 

If Jenny had been on good terms with Gibbs, she would have taken him. If Tony had trusted the director, he would have gone after her sooner. If Jenny and Ziva had still been close, Ziva might have known what was going on.

But the director hadn't been on good terms with Gibbs, Tony hadn't trusted her, and Ziva had chosen a different side.

Which was, from a certain point of view, why the director had died.

From another point of view, she had died because she had preferred going out in a blaze of glory to a slow, painful death.

Or, from yet another point of view, she died because Mike Franks hadn't called for backup and had made the mistake of going for water and leaving her alone.

Anyone could be blamed, really.

Including, of course, the people who had actually done the shooting and the woman who had hired them.

That was who Gibbs blamed, so that was who got blown up.

Er, rather, so that was who Gibbs had asked to meet with him at the director's house, and it was such a shame that something had gone wrong with the gas line.

Ziva told McGee he was an awful liar and to just stick to the basics if the director asked.

 

Vance didn't expect much from Gibbs, but he asked anyway.

Gibbs gave him the highlights and a semi-plausible explanation for the less legal bits that Vance knew about.

He didn't tell him about how much it had hurt to find Jenny like that, despite everything.

He didn't tell him that he'd seen what happened when directors took too much interest in his agents and that if Vance didn't back away from Tim, he'd make him regret it.

He didn't tell him that he was afraid.

Morrow had been a good director, but there'd been a time when he was new that things had been difficult. He'd felt the need to change things. Some things had ended up for the better, Gibbs had to admit, but not everything.

Gibbs didn't trust change, and he'd feel a lot better about having a new director if Vance didn't have the exact same look Morrow had had in those early days in his eyes.

 

Vance asked each and every one of them hard questions about their actions and that of their teammates. Their answers varied with the questions.

One thing, though, they all did tell him, though in slightly different ways: "I take full responsibility for the actions of my team."

 

Director Vance: Why didn't you and Officer David go with the director?

Agent DiNozzo: As I've already said, sir, she ordered us not to, and we had no reason to think anything was wrong.

Director Vance: You realize someone has to be held accountable for this.

Agent DiNozzo: Yes, sir. As Senior Field Agent, I take full responsibility for making that call - and all others that followed it.

Director Vance: Including McGee hacking Director Shepherd's phone?

Agent DiNozzo: _All_ others, sir.

 

Director Vance: Special Agent DiNozzo claims it was his decision not to follow the director. Would you agree with that?

Office David: Agent DiNozzo was following orders. Once we had reason to be concerned, he acted immediately.

Director Vance: But you had a bad feeling long before that, didn't you?

Officer David: Not enough to act upon.

Director Vance: Let's move on. You and Agent DiNozzo discovered a body near Director Shepherd's car, correct?

Officer David: We did which is when we asked for help in locating the director.

Director Vance: First you investigated, though, didn't you?

Officer David: Gathering more information seemed prudent.

Director Vance: Specifically, you approached the ghost of the young woman.

Officer David: It was the fastest way to get information. Given the nature of my condition, I was the one to approach her as I deemed it safest.

Director Vance: In the presence of civilians, however, it's against NCIS policy.

Officer David: As a Mossad officer, I have greater flexibility.

Director Vance: What was Agent DiNozzo's reaction?

Officer David: He objected to the public location. My actions were my own; I take full responsibility.

 

Director Vance: You discovered that Mike Franks had rented a vehicle in L.A.

Agent McGee: I did.

Director Vance: And this was discovered around noon?

Agent McGee: That sounds about right.

Director Vance: Yet I didn't hear about it till hours later. Why is that?

Agent McGee: It's not standard procedure to tell the director every time something's found in a case. It didn't seem necessary.

Director Vance: I heard your team voting on whether or not to keep me out of the loop, McGee!

Agent McGee: In all fairness, we hadn't actually taken the vote yet, sir. It might have gone in your favor.

Director Vance: This agency is not a democracy, Agent McGee.

Agent McGee: No, sir. I was the one who found out the information. It was my responsibility to report it. I take -

Director Vance: Full responsibility, I get it. I'm sensing a running theme here. Some people might say it was Agent Gibbs' responsibility to report it to me.

Agent McGee: Gibbs is grieving, Director. He wasn't thinking clearly.

Director Vance: Uh-huh. Well, it looks like you're in the clear, McGee.

Agent McGee: So you're not mad about Franks.

Director Vance: I didn't say that.

Agent McGee: Then with all due respect, sir, I'm not in the clear, because that was my fault.

Director Vance: You've got a promising career ahead of you, Agent McGee. Are you sure Gibbs is the hill you want to die on?

Agent McGee: I'd be honored to, sir.

 

Director Vance: Gibbs.

Agent Gibbs: Director.

Director Vance: Whatever else they are, your team is certainly loyal.

Agent Gibbs: They're good agents.

Director Vance: They're not exactly easy to work with.

Agent Gibbs: I've never had a problem with them. I'll take responsibility for whatever's worrying you about this case.

Director Vance: Somehow, I thought you'd say that.

Agent Gibbs: If you've got something to say, Director, say it.

Director Vance: Personal loyalty among your team is starting to conflict with agency interests. It might be time to see how they do away from you.

Agent Gibbs: Over my dead body.

Director Vance: Not exactly very professional of you, Gibbs.

Agent Gibbs: Over my dead body, _sir._

[Door slams.]

Director Vance: Yeah, that's going to be a problem.

 

They stood like good little agents in a straight line in front of the director's desk. It sort of reminded Tony of he and his friends at boarding school getting called in to talk to the dean after a particularly good prank, but he didn't remember any of his friends mastering that look of blank faced defiance quite like Gibbs had.

"Due to recent events, I have decided to reassign many of you."

Reassign. Like to other teams? But still in the DC area, right? He wouldn't make them move offices, would he?

"Agent McGee." Vance handed over a file. "I need you down in Cyber Crimes."

Tony relaxed a little. That wasn't so bad. They could handle this until Gibbs managed to glare some sense into the director.

"Officer David, you've been recalled to Israel."

"But - "

Ziva's face had gone pale but she reached out and squeezed his wrist before Tony could say any more.

The last time Tony had seen that look on Gibbs' face, he'd been contemplating killing someone.

"Agent DiNozzo." Vance was shooting him a look that wasn't quite a glare but that was close enough to make his hackles rise. "My predecessor wrote in her notes that you excelled at undercover work."

_Oh, no. Please, no._

Vance handed him a file. Tony flipped it open numbly.

"We'll talk more about the details of your assignment later. Right now, it'll suffice to say that you leave tomorrow and you should be prepared for tropical weather."

No. Not alone, not again. He couldn't be left alone to get lost in someone else's story, not again, not in a place like a Hawaiian hotel where he'd gotten left. Not this, please not this, please, no, please, no -

"Yes, sir."

"Gibbs, I've assigned you a new team. Here are their dossiers. That'll be all."

Tony shot a quick look at Gibbs. He was fully prepared to say something inane to distract the director so that Ziva and Tim could hurry Gibbs out before he could start throwing punches.

He wasn't prepared to see Gibbs' eyes so full of shattered things.

If Tony's heart had still been pumping, it would have skipped a beat, but the shattered look had fused into something far more dangerous in another instant.

The void of space was warmer than Gibbs' eyes when he said, "Yes, _sir,_ " and walked out the door.

If Tony was in Vance's shoes, he would have started looking into the possibility of installing some sniper proof glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to "Judgement Day: Part One" and "Judgement Day: Part Two".
> 
> Despite what it looks like in this chapter, I'm not actually anti-Vance. He's got some definite redeeming characteristics, especially later on, but my opinion of him has tended to be pretty in tune with what Gibbs thought. When Vance disbanded the team, I hated him. When he didn't stand up for his team when that debacle with the ambassador's daughter went down, he dethroned Jenny as my least favorite director.
> 
> But when he was grieving for his wife or admitted DiNozzo was a top agent or when he did whatever it took to get McGee and Gibbs home when their helicopter got shot down - Well, I've grown to sympathize with him. I don't fully trust him, but I like him.
> 
> So, no, Gibbs is not actually going to shoot Vance. It's just that in this continuity, Vance just took away his kids.
> 
> And we all know what Gibbs is like when someone threatens his family.
> 
> Next chapter will be: Do You Regret This Yet?
> 
> (Hint: Probably.)


	14. Do You Regret This Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes. The answer to that question is an unqualified yes.
> 
> Who's doing the regretting is a trickier question, but there is definitely regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Aussiefan70 for getting two chapters in one day.

"You gonna be okay hanging out in the basement for a bit until I can sort this out, Tim?" Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed as he tucked the blankets around him.

"I'll be fine."

The way Tim was worrying his lower lip said otherwise. "Tim."

"The job's fine," he assured him. "It's the new people I'm worried about."

Gibbs wasn't exactly the man to ask about how to deal with coworkers. His strategy was to growl until they either did what he wanted or went away.

"It'll be fine," Gibbs said. "And if it's not, Abby can help you crash their computers."

Shannon wouldn't have thought much of that sentence as a parenting technique, but Tim seemed happier, so Gibbs considered it good enough. "Where's Tony?"

Tim frowned. "I don't know. He's really worried."

That made two of them. Gibbs stood to go find him.

"Gibbs? The director's going to let him come back, isn't he?"

Gibbs turned out the light. "He'll come back, Tim." Whether the director was inclined to let him or not.

He checked the kitchen and living room first, then the basement. He wasn't there.

It was an uncomfortable reminder of what was to come.

He'd expected to find Tony seeking comfort and an escape through a movie or with the sweet treats his mother had favored. Failing that, he'd thought Tony might have gone to the basement to wait for him.

Except Tony had a tendency to think of the basement as Gibbs' space, a sanctum to be entered only when absolutely necessary. He'd never been entirely comfortable down there, preferring to sit on the steps rather than descend to the bottom.

If he wanted to talk, he wouldn't have gone there.

It didn't say much for him that it had taken him this long to figure out where Tony had gone, but to be fair, it was Tony. Trying to figure out how that kid thought was an exercise that would drive a psychologist mad.

Gibbs pushed open the door to his own bedroom. Sure enough, Tony was sitting on the bed, looking sheepish.

Gibbs sat next to him. "How're you doing, kid?"

"I really don't want to do this," Tony admitted quietly.

"You don't have to," Gibbs pointed out. "You could resign." Selfishly, he wished Tony would.

Tony wrinkled his nose. "DiNozzos don't quit."

Gibbs had been afraid he'd say that. He was proud of him for it, but this assignment was asking for more than Vance knew. It wasn't fair to Tony,

"Vance give you the details yet?"

"I think he's waiting till the last minute so I can't tell you," Tony said glumly.

"He could just say it's need to know," Gibbs said.

Tony snorted. "He's not that stupid."

Gibbs held back a smile at that before turning serious again. "If something goes wrong and you need help, I don't care what Vance said or how important the mission is. You call me."

"I'll make you proud," Tony promised.

Gibbs took hold of Tony's chin gently and turned his head towards him. "Hey. I'm already proud of you. You've done a lot of good work and you'll do a lot more, but you can't do that if you get yourself killed."

"A little too late for that, Boss."

"Tony," Gibbs warned.

Tony flashed him a wide, over bright grin. "I'll come home in one piece, Boss." His grin grew mischievous. "Cross my heart and hope to die." He hopped off the bed but hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

Gibbs waited him out.

"I don't suppose I could stay in here with you tonight?"

Something inside Gibbs relaxed a bit. "No talking," he warned.

Tony's grin brightened into something more genuine. "On it, Boss!"

 

Gibbs dreams were long and unsettled, but they smoothed out in the early hours of the morning.

He woke up to Tony whispering urgently to Tim about everything he'd need to do to take care of Gibbs while he was gone.

"That's not your job," Gibbs grumbled into his pillow. It was his job to protect them, not the other way around.

Of course, he reminded himself as he helped Tony pack, he wasn't doing a very good job of that.

He got a call from one of his new agents just as he was pulling out of the driveway. There'd been a body found in Norfolk and he was needed right away.

He dropped his team off at the Navy Yard first. For a moment, when Tony was clinging to him, he thought his kid was never going to let go.

Kelly had never wanted to let go either.

But in the end, Tony was ready with a laugh and a grin, and it was Gibbs who had to resist the urge to drag him back into the car and drive until they hit the border.

 

_Day One_

Gibbs' new team was useless. Absolutely useless. Lee never should have left Legal, Keating belonged in Cyber Crime down with the other geeks, and Langer -

Langer was many things, but Gibbs had been able to remember those things better back when the man wasn't pretending to be his Senior Field Agent.

It probably wasn't good for team morale to let Abby hang a "Days Since Gibbs had Competent Agents" tally in her lab, but maybe it would motivate them.

It was only day one, and Gibbs was already contemplating giving up on the lot of them.

 

Tim without Tony was like a mouse. He moved too quietly through the house.

Gibbs took to changing the volume on Tim's video games, something he'd heard many parents did.

He doubted most parents were turning their kids' games' volume _up._

 

_Day Two - Day Nine_

Two days into getting his new team, they caught a case. A week later, Gibbs had solved it.

Armed with fresh ammunition, he took the reports up to the director personally.

"If my team had been here, we could have solved the case in half the time. If you'd left me to work alone, I could have got it done faster!"

"Problems?" Vance said mildly.

Gibbs gritted his teeth. "Keating and Lee are going to get somebody killed in the field. They have no idea what they're doing. One probie can be compensated for, but not two. Not on this team."

"I thought you liked Langer."

"Langer's fine, but that's all he is. If you want better results, I need a better team."

"The case was solved. As far as I'm concerned, your results are fine."

Gibbs let out a long, slow breath. "Any word from Agent DiNozzo or Officer David?"

"That's need to know, Gibbs."

Gibbs leaned forward and planted his hands on the director's desk. "Trust me, Director. _I need to know."_

Vance sighed. "They're fine, Gibbs."

"They both said they were fine? Those exact words?"

"Just last night." Vance glanced up from his reports. "You don't look relieved."

"If you knew DiNozzo, you wouldn't be either."

 

Tim, on his own initiative, started trying to hack the classified files at NCIS in the hopes of figuring out where Tony was. Mossad was so far holding out against his attempts to get in so he could track down Ziva, but he kept trying. He went up to Abby's lab on his lunch break and they'd work on it together.

On the third day of this, Gibbs showed up with Caff-POWs and two salt free pizzas.

Tim pretended not to see the quiet desperation in Gibbs' eyes when he asked, "Anything?"

He couldn't look Gibbs in the eye when he had to shake his head in answer.

 

_Day Twelve_

For his own sanity, Gibbs brought an electric coffee maker to the office and plugged it in at his desk.

Vance raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest.

Until he realized Gibbs didn't share a single drop of that coffee - and he was brewing an almost obscene amount.

"Why?" Vance asked finally.

Gibbs shrugged. "It works for Abby."

Vance thought of what he had glimpsed of Miss Scuito's almost manic good cheer. "Maybe you should talk to Dr. Mallard."

"I have been," Gibbs said shortly.

"Gibbs, this needs to stop."

"I need my team back."

Vance thought about Miss Sciuto's shrines to her missing teammates, Dr. Mallard's increasingly dark mumbling, and a desperate email from Palmer that read like a foretelling of the apocalypse. He thought about Gibbs' behavior and the reports from his new team. "Gibbs, this isn't healthy."

"My caffeine intake's fine," Gibbs snapped.

"I'm not talking about that! They're your coworkers, not your family, Gibbs!"

Gibbs stalked out before he could say something he'd regret.

 

_Day Thirteen_

Ducky rapped gently at the director's door and poked his head in. "I wonder if I might have a quick word?"

Vance leaned back in his chair. "Come on in, Dr. Mallard. What's on your mind?"

Ducky made his way inside. "I'm increasingly concerned about Jethro."

"Aren't we all." Vance folded his hands on his desk. "What specifically concerns you, Doctor?"

Ducky sighed. "Jethro has never gotten the medically recommended amount of sleep - or kept his caffeine intake to reasonable limits - but both problems have taken a drastic turn for the worse. He's getting almost no sleep, he's drinking truly alarming amounts of coffee, and has been running himself ragged in his work."

"Are you saying he's unfit for duty?"

Ducky raised his eyebrows. "Jethro at his worst is better than anyone else on that team of his at their best. I will say, however, that the toll it's taking on his body is also taking a toll on his manners, and his new team is suffering for it."

"That I can believe."

"Even more concerning, Director, is his psychological state. Jethro is not a man who takes change well, nor a man to give up on his people. He will continue driving himself to the brink until he is satisfied that all of "his" people are safe."

"You want me to bring DiNozzo and David back," Vance said flatly.

"I want to be sure you've thought through all possible ramifications of your decision."

"Thank you, Doctor, that'll be all."

"No, I'm very much afraid it will not," Ducky murmured to himself as he slipped out the door.

Vance admitted, if only to himself, that maybe it was time for some sort of peace offering.

 

_Day Fifteen_

The wall behind his door was going to get a permanent dent if people didn't stop slamming it open.

"Gibbs," Vance said wearily.

Gibbs was looking pretty weary himself. There were shadows under his eyes that Vance hadn't noticed before and the slightest tremble in his hands from a caffeine overdose.

"You got Abby an assistant."

"Yes, I noticed how overworked she's been. I thought Mr. Sterling might be useful to her."

"She hates him," Gibbs said bluntly. "She works better alone."

"Are you sure you're not just projecting your own feelings there, Gibbs?" Vance asked dryly.

"Check your email."

Vance did. There were thirty-three unopened emails from Miss Sciuto. He raised an eyebrow at the content of some of them.

Then again, he couldn't exactly fire someone as brilliant as Miss Sciuto without an extraordinarily good reason, so he'd just have to put up with a few . . . eccentricities.

That summed up most of Gibbs' team, actually.

"I'm sure she just needs some time to warm up to him."

Gibbs' eyes were flint. "What's next, Director? Replacing Palmer? Retiring Ducky?"

Vance sighed. "Despite what you seem to believe, Gibbs, I'm just doing what I think's best for this agency. How's your team doing?"

"I don't know, you won't tell me," Gibbs snapped.

"The one in the bullpen."

"Lee nearly shot me. Keating has the social skills of a dead fish. Langer's stopped even trying to make something of them."

"And you?"

"I've got a forensic scientist to go calm down."

 

_Day Sixteen_

"Tell me you've got something for me, Franks."

"I've been reading through everything I've got, probie. There's plenty on Vance, but none of it's quite what you need."

"I'll take anything you've got," Gibbs said, knuckles white on the phone. "He's afraid of something in that box."

"It's some dense reading. I'm doing what I can. You got any friends you can call on?"

Half of NCIS owed him some kind of favor. If he wanted to stir up the whole agency into a fight over this, he could do it. He could bring them home.

But next time? When Vance wanted to send DiNozzo out again? When Mossad came slinking around Ziva? When it was easier to scapegoat McGee for some hacking than to face off against the FBI?

If he backed Vance into a corner now, there was guaranteed to be a rematch, and he couldn't afford to use all his weapons now.

"I'm working on it," he said and snapped his phone shut.

Abby looked up at him hopefully from his kitchen table. Her eyes were still swollen and red.

"It'll be alright," he told her, kissing her hair. "Go help McGee."

She bit her lip and hurried off to do so.

They couldn't work in her lab anymore, so they'd brought in laptops and set up in Gibbs' living room. Tim had set up Internet for the house a few years back.

Gibbs watched them work, feeling useless and hating it.

 

_Day Eighteen_

"How're those codes coming, McGee?"

McGee jumped a little in his chair and turned to look at the director. "I think I've almost cracked the last layer, sir."

A wide smile broke across Vance's face. "I'm glad to hear that, McGee. Anything I can do?"

"I just need a bit more time, sir."

 

Gibbs' cell phone rang out, cutting through the petty arguments in the bullpen. Gibbs snatched for the distraction.

"Boss, it's me, McGee. I finally cracked the data encryption Vance had me working on. Boss, there's a mole at NCIS."

"You sure?" Gibbs demanded.

"It gets worse. Once I knew that, I knew better where to start looking in all those files I've been going through. That's why Vance sent Ziva away: to take care of a link to the mole in the Middle East. And . . . "

"And?"

"Boss, they think the mole's someone on your new team. I think Vance was hoping you'd figure out which. You got a bad gut feeling about any of them?"

"Yeah, McGee, all of 'em." He glanced around the bullpen, expression neutral, but anger starting to coil within him. Vance had stuck a potential mole on his team and hadn't bothered to tell him. That could have gotten every single one of them killed.

"I'll try and find more info on Ziva. Be careful, Boss."

"Wait. What about - " He hesitated to say the name where it could be overheard.

"Tony?" McGee guessed. "Nothing. I'm not seeing anything in the operation notes that hint at what he's doing. It might not be connected at all."

"Keep looking," he ordered and snapped his phone shut.

Time to have a few more words with Vance.

 

_Day Twenty-One_

mcgeek109: u ok?

[blocked]: how did you get this number?

mcgeek109: same way i get info for gibbs before a warrant comes thru

[blocked]: your username needs work.

mcgeek109: my username's fine. R u ok?

[blocked]: I am nearing completion of my mission.

mcgeek109: so you'll be home soon?

[blocked]: perhaps

[blocked]: don't do this again. it's too dangerous.

mcgeek109: wait u never rlly answered the question

mcgeek109: u there?

mcgeek109: we miss u

Ziva stared at her phone for a long moment before slipping into the evening dress she'd be wearing to sing.

 

There had only been one brief report on the explosion on the news, but it had been more than enough, judging by the look on Gibbs' face.

Vance didn't even wait for him to say anything. "Mossad wants her for a few days to debrief. She'll be back in D.C. by Thursday."

"And DiNozzo?"

"His mission's not done yet. Any luck finding our mole?"

"Could be any of 'em."

"Which is why you've got a plan."

Gibbs inclined his head.

 

_Day Twenty-Eight_

According to Vance, the plan had worked. The mole was dead and his ghost salted. Problem solved.

Gibbs didn't consider a plan that led to both Langer _and_ the mole dying to really be a success, but he wasn't the director.

He drove back to the Navy Yard in a silence that still had him automatically turning to check the passenger seats to make sure his kids were alright before he remembered that they weren't there.

He needed more coffee.

He started trying to figure out what his next move needed to be as he rode up the elevator to the bullpen. Now that the mole was found, Vance had no excuse not to give him McGee and Ziva back. Tony, though, was another matter.

A babble of excited voices greeted him when he stepped off the elevator. Abby was bouncing up and down in excitement, Ducky was talking warmly to McGee, and Palmer -

Was he actually hugging Ziva?

Palmer seemed to realize this at the exact same moment Gibbs did, and he stepped back hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't have done that. Please don't kill me again."

Ziva's stiff posture had relaxed a bit. "It is . . . quite alright, Palmer." She turned. "Gibbs!"

"Ziver." Some of the tension that had been gnawing its way through his chest had been released. He looked her up and down carefully. "You all right?"

"Better now that I am back."

Tim was grinning from ear to ear. "Vance has assigned us back to your team, Boss!"

"Including Tony?"

Ziva and Tim glanced at each other. "We have not heard," Ziva said. "But I only just arrived from the airport."

Gibbs nodded and checked his watch. It was getting late. "You got a place to stay tonight, Ziva?"

"I paid the rent for my apartment in advance before I left. I will be fine, Gibbs."

GIbbs had a few doubts about that, but he couldn't make her come over. He could, however, turn her chin gently to make her look at him. "No knives?" he checked softly.

"Only if someone is foolish to break in," she promised.

Good enough. "Where's Vance? His office?"

"MTAC," Tim corrected. "I saw him head in there a few minutes ago."

"Are you going to go make him give Tony back?" Abby asked anxiously.

"I'm gonna try," he promised, walking over to kiss her hair before heading up the stairs.

Vance was talking to a harassed looking agent on the screen when Gibbs walked in.

"He's missed the last two check-ins, Director. Something has gone very, very wrong."

"I'm inclined to agree, Agent Barrett. Do you have any idea at all where he might be?"

The blond agent shook her head. "He told me that he would be going to the weapons cache yesterday. I was supposed to track the GPS we'd embedded in his clothes so that we could finally take out that cache. After five minutes of following it though, it just disappeared."

Gibbs descended the stairs quietly. He had a very bad feeling about this. If the "he" was who he thought it was . . .

He scanned the background behind Agent Barrett for clues, but she was in a generic, if slightly run down, hotel room. Tim and Abby might could analyze it for clues and give him a location, but he didn't have a prayer of doing it at a glance.

"DiNozzo's resourceful, but even he has limits, Director. If he hasn't contacted me by now, I'm starting to think he's not going to."

Gibbs heart clenched. "Where was his last known location?" he demanded, taking a position beside Vance.

Vance shot him a look. "Gibbs, everything is under control."

"It sure doesn't sound like it," he snapped. "Barrett?"

"I can't just - "

A knock came on the other side of the connection. Barrett drew her gun and went to the door, exiting the view of the screen in the process.

Gibbs could hear the door creak open.

"If they caught DiNozzo . . . " Vance muttered.

"Not an option," Gibbs bit out.

The beat of too long long stillness passed in a flurry of half heard, garbled noises coming from the other end that suggested movement.

And, above them, a tired but familiar voice talking to Barrett.

"Miss me, EJ?"

"Tony?" Gibbs called.

"You're hurt, don't - "

Tony ignored Barrett's advice and stumbled into view of the camera. "Gibbs? You there?"

Gibbs stepped forward. "Right here, Tony. You all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Tony said dazedly.

"You're covered in blood, DiNozzo!" Vance said. To his credit, he sounded genuinely concerned.

Tony glanced down at himself. "Yeah. Yeah, that's true. Not mine, though. I'm fine. Just a bit tired."

Tony must have been wearing real clothes for the blood to not have just been absorbed. Instead of disappearing, it had soaked his jacket and splattered his sleeves. Some must have gotten onto his skin and fueled him, but that didn't change the weariness that washed out the color from his face.

Iron, Gibbs guessed grimly.

Tony was still looking at his bloodstained clothes. "I blew up the place where they were keeping the weapons. It was kind of an accident," he added as an afterthought. "And I got the men who were working there. All of 'em. First the one who smoked too much, then the one who shared his chocolate bar, then the one who kind of reminded me of you, Boss." Tony was rocking back and forth. He let out a small laugh. "The others too. First you shoot, then you strangle, then you hit them with an iron bar so they don't come back. _And Then There Were None._ That's a great miniseries, Boss. Can we watch it when I get back?"

"You on pain meds, DiNozzo?" Vance demanded.

Tony blinked at the screen. "What answer doesn't get me fired?" He didn't wait for a response. "Fired's kind of a funny word, you know? There was a lot of fire. I think one of them was still alive when it got there. I must not have gotten them all the first time after all. But he's gone now. All gone." Tears were leaking out of his eyes now. "I lost my gun, Boss. I know I'm not supposed to do that."

"'S'okay, Tony. Everything's going to be all right."

"But I lost my gun," Tony said stubbornly. "So I couldn't shoot them anymore. Had to just fight." He looked down at his hands.

Barrett looked horrified in the background. Gibbs felt sick. He knew what it meant when a ghost "just fought".

"I bit one of them," he said matter of factly. "Right here." He tapped his throat. He rubbed at his face. "Don't know why I'm crying," he said absently. "Had to be done. Agents aren't supposed to cry about it, but . . . " He swallowed hard. "I think I did something bad, Boss. You're not supposed to do what I did, are you? Not unless you're really, really bad."

The sick feeling in his chest was being matched by a rising tide of icy rage, but none of it was directed toward Tony. "No," Gibbs said firmly. "You did what you had to so that you could come home. That's all, Tony."

"Home," he muttered, eyes brightening a bit. "I can come home now?"

Vance had a look on his face Gibbs had never seen before. He took a shaky breath before agreeing. "Yeah, DiNozzo. You're clear to come home. I'll have tickets sent for you and Barrett to fly back first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'm back on Gibbs' team?" Tony checked.

Vance hesitated. "After you take a long leave."

"Leave sounds good," Tony agreed. "Is the rest of the team okay?"

"All home, Tony," Gibbs promised. "We'll be waiting at the airport."

"With pizza?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Yeah, kid. With sausage."

Tony nodded. "See you then, Boss. Director." The camera went dark.

Gibbs turned furiously to the director. "What were you _thinking?"_

Vance rubbed his head wearily. "It was never supposed to turn into this, Gibbs. It was supposed to be a fairly quiet assignment so that he could get his head on straight after Director Shepherd's death. He found something everyone else who'd analyzed the situation had missed, and he wouldn't let me pull him. Said he could handle it."

_I'll make you proud._

"You should have known better," Gibbs growled. "This should never have happened."

"You think I don't know that?" Vance demanded. "This was the last thing I wanted, Gibbs, but he's a federal agent. We all take the risks."

He's a kid, Gibbs thought furiously, but that was on him, not Vance. He never should have let his kids get drawn into this.

_How would you have stopped them?_

They weren't quite kids and they weren't quite adults. They'd been stubborn about it. Still were.

"He's gonna have to pass a psych eval before he can come back to work," Vance said. He raised his hands in a conciliatory manner when Gibbs turned his glare on him. "He's a great agent, Gibbs. I'm not trying to keep him out of the field. It's just standard procedure."

Yeah, yeah, it was. If he wasn't so tired, he would have remembered that.

"I need to take some leave," he told Vance. "The whole team does."

Vance nodded. "I'll take care of it. I'll give Miss Scuito some time off too. Hopefully some distance will help her warm up to Mr. Sterling."

Gibbs snorted. "Good luck with that. What time will DiNozzo get into the airport?"

"Around nine, probably. You going to pick him up?"

"Yep. Night, Director." Gibbs started heading back up the steps, relief at Tony's return still warring with helpless fury.

"Any particular reason you call your Senior Field Agent 'kid', Gibbs?" Vance called after him.

Gibbs ignored the question. "Keep an eye on Lee," he instructed.

Vance asking questions. Gibbs shoved the new worry into the back of his mind and went to go tell the others the good news.

 

A combination of his badge and his glare got Gibbs and the rest of the team farther in than most to wait for Tony at the airport. Three pizza boxes were left stacked in the car.

Abby kept anxious watch on the flights board while Tim used his phone to keep track of weather conditions so they'd be alerted in advance of possible delays. Both kept up a constant commentary on any changes, which saved Gibbs from having to ask. Ziva was calmer, but Gibbs noticed that she was listening to their updates too.

At 9:05, the plane touched down. At 9:10, they began deplaning. A still weary Tony and a worried looking Barrett exited in the middle of the stream.

"Tony, Tony, Tony!" Abby bounded forward and wrapped him in a hug. "We missed you so much! Where were you? We could only see your connecting flight. Are you okay? Did you miss us?"

Gibbs was close enough to see Tony visibly shove the darkness back and slip into what he needed to be. He laughed and patted Abby on the back.

"I'm fine, Abbs. And of course I missed my Energizer Abby."

She beamed at him and stepped back to give the others room. Tony looked over Ziva and Tim. "Hey, you came back in one piece! And I see the denizens of the basement didn't manage to convince you to join the Dork Side, Tim." His smile was slowly warming into something a bit more genuine. "EJ, this is Mossad Officer Ziva David and Special Agent Tim McGee. Guys, this is Special Agent EJ Barrett. She's had me talking in her ear for weeks, so be nice to her."

Gibbs took advantage of his other agents' distraction to approach Tony. A bit more of the wall that the kid had built around himself seemed to fall. "Gibbs. Did you miss me?"

"You could say that," he agreed. It would be a bit of an understatement, but you could say that. "You OK?"

Tony's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "'Course I am, Boss. Sorry about last night. They kept burning some kind of herb that's supposed to keep evil spirits out, and I think there must be something to it, because it made my brain all muzzy."

"Ghosts," Gibbs corrected.

"What?"

"Ghosts. Not evil spirits. There's a difference."

Tony reached up to rub the place on his neck he'd tapped last night. "Yeah," he muttered.

"It's gonna be okay, Tony. You're home now," Gibbs promised.

It would probably ruin his gruff reputation in Barrett's eyes forever, but there were more important things. He pulled Tony into a hug and didn't let go until the shaking had stopped.

He had to wait a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blink and you'll miss it nod to "Grounded", references to "Last Man Standing" and "Agent Afloat", and general, very AU, references to Special Agent EJ Barrett who appeared in seasons eight and nine as well as less AU references to Charles "Chip" Sterling, first seen in "The Voyeur's Web".
> 
> Those of you who remember episode chronology probably have some questions about that, but they'll be answered in the chapter after next.
> 
> Deciding what exactly Gibbs should do in this chapter was tricky. He'd do whatever it took to get his kids back, but he's going to be smart about it. He knows making an enemy of the director will cause more problems later on. That said, there was no way he was going to put up with months like in canon.
> 
> Next chapter there's some much needed recovery and breathing room before we jump back into the thick of things. Chapter title: Jackson. Yes, as in Jackson Gibbs.
> 
> How exactly do you tell your dad he has two to three ghostly grandkids?


	15. Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are more or less OK.
> 
> Relatively speaking.

Jackson Gibbs was proud of most of the things he'd taught his son, but he had to admit, it was unfortunate that Leroy shared his stubborn streak.

This nonsense about not talking to each other had dragged on for long enough. Jack wasn't getting any younger, and he missed his son.

He'd been telling himself the same thing almost since they'd had that argument in the first place, but the NCIS team that had come to investigate that poor young marine's death had been the final straw. Maybe his son had already been on leave like those nice agents had said, but Jack wasn't counting on it.

Somebody had to bend. It obviously wasn't going to be Leroy, so it looked like it would have to be him.

Firmly settled in that knowledge, he locked up the store for a few days and drove down to DC.

Hopefully, Leroy still lived in that same house. Otherwise, this could prove difficult.

He pulled into what was hopefully still his son's driveway and sat for a minute with his hands clenched around the wheel. It wasn't too late for him to leave.

But if he did, it could very quickly become too late to come back. He hadn't taught Leroy to run from doing the right thing, and he wasn't about to start doing it himself.

All right then. He heaved himself out of the car and went up to the door and knocked.

No answer. There was another car in the driveway; surely someone was home?

His old ears finally picked up on the sounds coming from the backyard. Leroy must be out back, and from the sound of it, he had company.

He hesitated. Maybe he should come back. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. This was his and Leroy's business and no one else's.

He mulled over it for a moment, but having come this far, he was reluctant to wait. He'd just go around back and see what was going on. Leroy'd never really been the entertaining type. It had been Shannon who had kept them from earning a reputation of hermits in the neighborhood.

The backyard was almost exactly as he remembered it. Leroy hadn't changed a thing about the landscaping since his girls had died. The only thing missing was the sandbox Kelly had enjoyed when she was younger. He must have gotten rid of it.

All things considered, though, it wasn't really the lack of a sandbox that had caught his attention.

A tiny, dark haired girl with bouncing curls and a slightly older looking pudgy boy were chasing a second boy holding a bright orange ball. The girl dived for his legs, but he leaped out of the way and sprang forward to tag Leroy's legs.

"Safe!" the boy crowed.

The girl pushed herself back to her feet, scowling. "You cheated."

"I made creative use of my resources," the boy corrected in a superior tone of voice.

The kid couldn't be more than ten. Who talked like that at that age?

Leroy looked down at the boy still clinging to his legs. "Why am I base?" He sounded amused instead of annoyed.

He knew the kids, obviously, and Jack wasn't seeing any other parents.

Surely if Leroy'd had more kids, he would have called him, wouldn't he?

Then again, this was Leroy. Counting on that boy to talk was like counting on gas prices not to rise.

Jack stepped out of the shadow of the house. "Leroy?"

Gibbs turned.

Jack wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't for fear of all things to flash onto his son's face before it smoothed into a wary mask.

The other two kids had sidled over to Leroy, easily catching the tension in the air. Instead of hiding behind him, though, they took defensive positions on either side of him that looked practiced.

Leroy, predictably, wasn't having any of it. "Get inside," he ordered.

Jack took a half step back. He knew they had parted on bad terms, but he hadn't expected his reception to be _this_ cold.

"Who is he?" the tallest boy demanded.

Was that a knife the girl was pulling out?

" _Inside_ ," Leroy growled. "Now."

The pudgy boy took a few hesitant steps toward the house. The girl took out another knife and passed it to the oldest boy without taking her eyes off Jack.

Leroy sighed. "He's not dangerous."

"Who is he?" the oldest boy demanded again.

Jack spoke up. "His father." He was disappointed in Leroy. He would have thought twenty years would have been enough time for him to let go of this old grudge.

All three kids pulled up short at that.

"Gibbs said you were dead," the pudgy one blurted out.

"Yeah, when he was talking to a Russian hit man," the taller one said. He looked warily between the two men. "You sure you're alright, Gibbs?"

Leroy finally gave in a little. "I'll be fine," he assured them. "I just need a minute to talk to him."

The kids still looked suspicious, but they went into the house - although Jack wouldn't have bet on them going much further than the door.

He turned back to his son and raised his eyebrows. "Interesting way to greet your father, Leroy."

Leroy shifted uncomfortably. "I wasn't expecting you, Dad."

"I thought I'd surprise you." He was getting too old to stand around talking like this. He walked over to one of the old lawn chairs and eased himself down into it. "You watching some of the neighbors' kids for 'em?"

Leroy hesitated. "Not exactly."

"You didn't forget to tell me I had grandchildren, did you?"

Leroy sat down on the low brick wall that surrounded the rose bushes. "It's more complicated than that. If anyone finds out the boys are here, they could be in danger, Dad. I couldn't tell anyone."

"And that girl?"

"She's not mine yet."

Jack thought that the 'yet' was probably the most important part of that sentence. "You adopt them?"

"Not officially. Like I said, it's complicated."

"Well, I'm not going to go blab it to anyone. I'd just like to meet them, that's all."

His son rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Dad. They've been through a rough time lately, Tony especially. They're jumpy around strangers."

Jack was starting to get a pretty good idea why those kids were with Leroy now, and if he said they couldn't handle strangers, well, he was probably right. He'd just have to work his way out of that category, then.

"What about you, son? How have you been?"

Leroy shrugged. "I'm all right. I've been worried about them," he admitted. "For a while, I was afraid . . . " He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Why'd you come? Why now?"

"You weren't the only kid from Stillwater to join the Marines. Some people from your agency came down to look into something. Got me thinking. I was hoping I could get you to come down for a visit soon. There's something I want to show you."

His son glanced toward the house where Jack suspected those kids were peering through the cracks in the blinds. "It's good to see you again, Dad," he confessed. "But I can't just leave them here."

"Of course not," he said indignantly. "You could take 'em with you. Let the kids get to know their granddad."

Leroy appeared to be debating something. "They're not . . . They're not normal kids," he warned.

Jack snorted. "I figured that much out for myself. That girl seemed a bit young for a knife, Leroy."

"She's Mossad."

"She's what now?"

"It's an Israeli agency. She's got special permission to be here." Leroy was studying his face carefully. "It was harder to get the papers than normal, seeing as she's a ghost."

Well, now. That was unexpected. Ghosts were never much of a problem down in Stillwater. People lived, people died, and then they had the common sense to move on. He'd wished it was different when Leroy's mother had died, but that was the way things were. The right way, he'd admitted eventually.

He'd seen that look on Leroy's face twice before. Once right before he'd announced he wanted to be a marine and once right before they'd started arguing at the funeral.

"You got a problem with that?"

"Of course I've got a problem with it," he said. "I've got a problem with a girl that age being in a position to be a ghost in the first place, much less part of some agency! But I've got no problem with your taking her in, Leroy. Goodness knows she looks like she needs it."

Leroy's eyes weighed him for a long moment. "And if I told you the others were too?"

He let out a long whoosh of air. "I'd ask you if you were sure you knew what you were doing. And then, once you said you were, because I've never known you to be otherwise, I'd tell you the invitation to come down to Stillwater is still open."

The tension slowly leeched out of his son. "Thanks, Dad," he said quietly.

"They're your kids, Leroy. What did you think I would say?"

Leroy ducked his head to hide that broad smile that had been so rare after his mother had died.

It certainly wasn't what Jack had expected when he'd shown up, but that was all right. It was nice to know life could still surprise him with some good things for once instead of just bad.

 

They huddled around the window and peered out through the slots in the blinds.

"Do you think he's all right?" Tim asked nervously. "I mean, it's his dad."

"His dad couldn't have been too bad," Tony said. "Look how Gibbs turned out."

"Our dads were awful, and we still turned out alright," Tim said.

Tony glanced at Ziva before pointing out the obvious. "We're all _dead,_ Tim."

"Yeah, but we're still good people," he protested.

Ziva's expression suggested that point was debatable, but she kept her thoughts to herself. "Why do you think Gibbs does not speak of him?"

"We could find out. If we went transparent enough, we could go eavesdrop."

"You know what they say about eavesdroppers, DiNozzo."

They jumped. Tony turned guiltily. "Oh, hey, Boss. I didn't hear the door open."

Gibbs' father looked taken aback. "Boss?"

_Oops._

"Long story, Dad." Gibbs moved on quickly. "This is Tony, Tim, and Ziva. This is my dad, Jackson Gibbs."

Tony reached out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gibbs." He frowned. "That doesn't work. What are we supposed to call you?"

Gibbs' dad laughed and shook his hand. "Call me Jack."

 

He took his dad upstairs to see the pictures there while dinner cooked in the oven.

"You've had these kids for a while, Leroy." His dad looked at the pictures one by one, smiling at some.

"Eight years for Tony. Six for McGee. Three for Ziva." There were fewer pictures of her, but Gibbs intended to change that eventually.

His dad stopped at a picture that resolutely refused to remain straight no matter what Gibbs did to it. "Who's this?"

The little girl beamed up at him from the photograph. He'd been careful not to let the glass get dusty.

He looked away.

_Some men aren't meant to have daughters._

"That's Kate."

 

Once it was plain that scaring the elder Gibbs off would not be necessary, Ziva attempted to politely excuse herself.

The others weren't having any of it. Tim, at least, was straightforward in his attempts to get her to stay. Tony was more underhanded. Whenever she started to try to slip toward the door, he always started a story that required her to stay and refute his telling of it.

Gibbs was, well, Gibbs. He told her straight out that she did not have to go, and he spent the rest of the night subtly proving it.

The problem with that was that she suspected when he said she did not have to go, he meant that she did not _ever_ have to go, and she had fought too hard for her independence to give it up now.

Late that night when she was curled up on the floor contemplating her purchasing options in Monopoly and half listening to the movie playing in the background, she admitted to herself that allowing herself to take this form had been a mistake. She had done it for the same reason she had come over in the first place, to help ease that terrible look out of Tony's eyes, and it had worked, but it had still been a mistake.

And it had nothing at all do with wanting to see them after a week without them, did it? Nothing to do with wanting to be like them for a few hours.

Nothing, she insisted firmly. She was smarter than that.

Which was why this form had been a mistake. It was easier to want things in this form. Easier to want one of the homemade marshmallows Gibbs had toasted in the fire. Easier to give in and play a game that served no purpose. Easier to like the music that swelled in the bright movie behind her.

Easier to want this family, now plus one member. Easier to wish that Gibbs' implied invitation was something she knew how to take.

She was not a child. She was more than this. She was independent at long last -

Never mind that Gibbs had not stopped his children from pursuing the career they wished despite his fears for them.

She was an adult, not a child -

Her body had looked small, so small, when she stood over its crumpled form at the bottom of the tree. Her brother had been able to carry it out without her help when they went back for it later.

She already had a family -

Her mother and sister were dead, she had shot Ari, and her father, her father -

She could not recapture the past and it was wrong to try. The warm glow of a family in their home and the innocence implied by taking the form of a child had both been taken from her long ago. To pretend otherwise was to delude herself.

A chance to find a new family, Abby might say.

"Ziva? You okay?" Tony asked. "You've been staring at Boardwalk for ten minutes."

She shook her head. "It is late. I must go."

"Oh, come on! It was just getting good!"

"I am sorry, Tony."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're intimidated by my strategy. Admit it."

"Strategy? What strategy?"

He winked at her. "Exactly."

She laughed, but she left nonetheless. For appearance's sake, she accepted Gibbs' offer to drive her home.

She was surprised when he was the one to initiate conversation in the car. "Dad's invited us down to Stillwater for a few days."

They still had two weeks of leave left. There was plenty of time for such a trip. She nodded. "Would you like me to watch the house for you?" The idea of getting out of her apartment for a few days to stay in Gibbs' admittedly superior home was appealing.

"That was an invitation, not a request for a favor."

She frowned. "Gibbs?"

He glanced at her, slightly exasperated. "You coming or not?"

Oh. She swallowed. "Surely he just meant for family to come."

"He did," Gibbs agreed. "Which is why you're invited."

"I - "

Gibbs seemed to know instinctively what she could not say. "Be ready to go at nine tomorrow. I'll come pick you up."

She ought to say no, but she could not remember why.

 

Being back in Stillwater was uncomfortable for Gibbs, but it was good for his kids and good for his dad, and that made it good enough for him.

"You ready to see what I brought you down here to see, Leroy?"

He'd almost forgotten that bit of it. "Sure, Dad."

He was surprised when his dad led him around to the old garage. He hadn't been in there since he'd left to join the Marines. He'd left an old Challenger unfinished in there if he remembered correctly.

His dad pulled the door up. Gibbs' breath caught.

The fully finished Challenger lay gleaming inside.

"Was never quite sure how to apologize for everything that went wrong," his dad said gruffly. "Thought maybe . . . " He shrugged.

The Gibbs men weren't known for their way with words, but some things could be expressed better without words anyway.

 

His dad was busy inside telling stories about Gibbs as a kid to an enraptured Tim and Ziva. He would have thought Tony would be right there with them, but he was nowhere to be found.

Gibbs slipped out the back door. One good thing about a Stillwater night was that he could see far more stars here than he could at home in DC. There was a swing in his dad's backyard that was a particularly good spot to look up at them from.

Tony was curled up in one corner of it, fingers picking at the chipping paint on the arm.

Gibbs eased himself down beside him on the creaking seat. "You doing okay, kid?"

Tony shrugged. "I stopped creeping the others out."

Gibbs sighed. "Not the same thing."

The swing swung gently for a few minutes in relative silence before Tony said, "It shouldn't feel different than shooting a gun. They're still dead, no matter how you kill them."

"And you still shouldn't have been in a position where you had to kill them in the first place." He put an arm on the back of the swing. Tony let his head lean back to rest on it. "But it does feel different."

"I don't want to go undercover again."

"After what happened this time, I think the director agrees with you."

"Oh. That's good." Tony went back to picking at the paint before he finally blurted out what was on his mind. "It doesn't make me bad, does it? What I did?" He was rubbing his neck again.

Gibbs stopped his hand gently. "No," he told him firmly. "No."

He didn't know what to say to make Tony believe it, but the faith in his voice was at least a start. Tony stopped curling himself into the corner and leaned against Gibbs instead.

Sharing his past didn't come easy to Gibbs, but being out here brought up old memories. "My mom used to sit out here with me," he told Tony. "She told me that every star up there had a story. She started with the traditional ones, but when she ran out of those, she started making ones up. She said all the stars deserved to have stories, not just the ones in the constellations that got all the attention."

Every star had a story. Just like every kid that lingered, unnoticed and unwanted.

He nudged Tony. "I bet you'd be as good at making up stories for them as she was."

"What if I pick a star that already has a story?"

"Plenty of room in a life for more than one story." Their lives were proof enough of that.

Tony still seemed doubtful but he pointed up at one that was barely visible and that hovered right above the tree that used to be Gibbs' favorite to climb.

"That one's hiding," Tony announced. "It stole a painting from the Navy, and it's trying to get away with it . . . "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: References to "Heartland", small reference to "The Namesake", and a tiny nod to "The Artful Dodger" at the very end.
> 
> So there's your fluffy as a feather hurt/comfort breather before we get into the next three chapters which will be . . . decided not fluff. Hopefully this wasn't too gooey.
> 
> I know Gibbs telling Jack was a risk, but I feel like once he'd told him about Ziva - who's legitimately allowed to be there - and he'd reacted well, he might take the leap. It is his father, after all.
> 
> Next chapter: A Time to Accuse.


	16. A Time to Accuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting the FBI involved is rarely a good thing.

Gibbs slid into his customary booth at the old diner he loved so much. Fornell was already waiting for him.

"I've got a case, Fornell. What was so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?"

The waitress didn't even have to ask for his order. She'd already gone to get it.

Fornell looked even more overworked than usual. "The phone might have been compromised. NCIS's whole building might have been compromised."

Gibbs nodded his thanks at the waitress who'd brought him coffee and looked at Fornell incredulously. "You're starting to sound like a conspiracy nut. Just what are you working on?"

Fornell leaned forward. "Seven years ago, the FBI's databases were repeatedly hacked. We finally managed to trace it back to a location."

Gibbs sipped his coffee. "Good for you."

Fornell ignored the sarcasm and kept going. "The trace led to a drug lord's house that had been confiscated and was up for sale. There was no one there when we got there, so we staked it out. After a week, we finally realized what we were dealing with. A ghost."

Gibbs kept his face impassive. "So?"

Fornell shook his head. "It was sneaky, Gibbs. Impressively so. We could barely get a read on it, and you know how overworked our Ghost Division is, never mind Paranormal Services. We contracted the job out to a good hunter and thought that was the end of it - until two weeks ago, when we realized there were flaws in our security system. We got them patched up, and the very next day, we get an alert that someone'd gotten in again. And according to our Cyber Division? It's the same ghost that hacked in the last time."

"Not my problem," Gibbs told him.

He was going to kill McGee for not being more careful, but Fornell's security problems weren't his concern.

"Actually, Gibbs, it is. They traced it back again, and it led directly to NCIS headquarters."

"You accusing us of something?" Gibbs asked mildly.

"I called the hunters up. They said you'd asked to talk to the ghost before it was destroyed. I told you, it's sneaky. It must have gotten away and followed you home." Fornell took a long gulp of his own drink. "My two least favorite things, computers and ghosts. And now they're ganging up on us. Do you have any idea how much of a nightmare this is, Gibbs? Who knows what one of those things can manage with that kind of access."

Gibbs knew exactly how much of a nightmare this was. Just not for the same reasons as Fornell.

"We'll look into it," Gibbs said. _I'll make McGee stop until he's sure he can get away with it._

Fornell shook his head. "This is just a courtesy call, Gibbs. Our directors met to hash things out last night. The FBI's sending in a team of our best to investigate."

"When?"

Fornell glanced at his watch. "In an hour, maybe?"

Gibbs slammed his coffee onto the table. "You can pay for breakfast," he told Fornell. He'd hoped the barked order would buy him time to get out the door so he could call the team in private, but Fornell just threw a twenty on the table and followed him out the door.

"Look, Gibbs, I know why you're ticked, but - "

"We've got an officer on loan from Mossad's Ghost Division," Gibbs growled. "She's Director David's daughter. If your boys get careless with the salt, it could cause an international incident."

Fornell hesitated. "That I didn't know. Maybe you should give her the day off."

Gibbs already had his phone out and the number dialed, but no one was answering.

He tossed his phone into his car. He was only five minutes from the Navy Yard.

Well, fifteen according to most people, but Gibbs had never really paid much attention to traffic laws when he had more important things on his mind.

 

 

His team was already facing off against the FBI agents when he got there, Fornell on his heels. Ziva was playing with her knife at her desk while Tony blocked the agents from entering the team's space. The two of them drew attention expertly while a quietly panicking McGee did . . . something . . . on his computer. Hopefully it would cover his tracks.

Gibbs just hoped they hadn't made the mistake of shaking hands. An ordinary agent might not notice the subtle differences between living flesh and blood fueled ectoplasm, but specialists definitely would.

One of the agents had withdrawn a gizmo of some sort that he was frowning at. He glanced up when the elevator dinged open. "Special Agent Gibbs, I presume?"

Gibbs ignored the outstretched hand. "Who are you?"

"Agent Hamlin. I'm here to look into your security leak."

"You mean the ghost you think's infected our computers," Gibbs said flatly.

The agents all collectively winced. Agent Hamlin's smile grew strained. "Of course not, Agent Gibbs. We know better than to think such a thing would be possible."

They were scared it was listening, in other words. He could practically feel Fornell glaring at him.

Personally, he was more concerned about Tim.

Hamlin turned his gizmo around so that Gibbs could see it. Presumably it was supposed to measure ghostly activity.

Naturally, it was off the charts.

Ziva caught sight of the readings too. "That would be my fault," she said.

The agent closest to her started reaching for his salt pack. "Oh?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Please tell me at least one of you read our dossiers before you showed up. No one? Wow."

Tim had stopped his frantic typing. Whatever he'd needed to do, it was done.

Gibbs did his best to look exasperated. It wasn't hard. "McGee, take Ziva home so they can do their job properly. DiNozzo, you'd better get Palmer out of here too, just to be safe. Don't bother coming back in," he added as they sprang to their feet. "I doubt we could get anything done today with them underfoot. The case'll have to wait."

An agent he remembered seeing with Fornell before and who he thought was called Sacks came in the the other side of the bullpen. Abby was chasing after him looking furious.

"Maybe not," Sacks said smugly. "I think Agent DiNozzo had better stay."

Abby caught up with him and jabbed her finger into his chest. "Tony ripped his glove at the crime scene, you smug little - "

"Abbs," Gibbs interrupted.

She turned to him. "Gibbs, you have to make the director fire Chip! He let this idiot into my lab even after I expressly told him to keep everyone out until I could talk to you!"

Gibbs wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't want an audience for it. "McGee, Ziva, get Palmer and get out of here. Tony, Abby, I want you in the lab."

The two of them hurried after him into the elevator. He gestured for Fornell to wait before he pushed the button to close the doors. Judging by the expression on Sacks' face, they'd be getting company once they were in the lab, but he wanted a chance to talk to Abby in private first.

He flipped the emergency stop switch. "Abby, _what_ is going on?"

Abby was even paler than usual. "I dusted for prints, just like always. And I found one."

"And?" Gibbs demanded.

She bit her lip. "It was Tony's. I'm sure his glove just ripped - "

"Back up," Tony broke in. "Ghosts have fingerprints?" He wiggled his fingers and frowned down at them.

"It's possible for you to smooth them over, but if a ghost is strong enough to have a physical effect on the world and they're in their normal form, then yes, they have fingerprints. How did you think I got yours on file?"

Tony shrugged sheepishly. "I wasn't paying attention when you took them. I thought it was just for show, and you were going to fake it like you did the blood thing."

"Good guess, but no. Anyway, it wouldn't have been a big deal because there are bite marks on the victim that we could compare to Tony's teeth impressions to prove he didn't do it, but stupid Chip let Sacks in, and now the FBI are involved." Abby finally stopped for breath. "What are they doing here anyway?"

"They're trying to figure out who hacked them," Gibbs said tersely, flipping the switch before Abby could ask more questions and get even more worried.

Sacks and Fornell were already waiting for them in the lab. At least Fornell had the grace to look apologetic about it.

Abby stalked past them and Chip without a second glance. Chip winced and stepped back.

Tony flashed him a forgiving and confident smile. "Just a little mix-up. You said you needed to take a dental impression, Abbs?"

"Actually, we can use what I've already got on file. I could have taken care of this already if somebody," she glared at Sacks, "hadn't run off."

Tony patted Sacks on the back. "No harm done."

Gibbs' glare encouraged Sacks not to get too comfortable with that idea.

"No eating my agents," Fornell muttered to Gibbs under his breath as Abby pulled up a comparison on the screen.

"Now dental records like this have an incredibly high accuracy rate, so - " Abby's nervous babbling trailed to a halt.

Sacks might be smug, but he wasn't stupid. Chip, on the other hand . . .

"It's a perfect match."

Gibbs turned his glare on Chip who ducked his head and muttered resentfully, "It is. Someone had to say it."

Fingerprints might get places they shouldn't at a crime scene accidentally. Bite marks, not so much.

Tony finally stopped staring at the screen and turned to Gibbs, face white. "Boss, I swear I -

"I know," he assured him.

"Alibi?" Fornell asked hopefully.

"Dr. Mallard was only able to narrow the time of death down to six to seven months ago," Chip said.

Too broad a time to claim that he'd known where DiNozzo was at all times, even if it was more or less true.

Fornell still hesitated.

Sacks looked at him incredulously. "Oh, come on. If it was anyone else, you would have arrested him already!"

"Ducky's not through with his autopsy yet," Abby said stubbornly. "He'll find something."

Fornell shot an apologetic look at Gibbs before giving in. "I'm sure he will, but until then, we have to take DiNozzo in. Just to the FBI lockup," he added. "No general population to worry about."

Sacks took a step toward Tony. Abby skipped in between them immediately, eyes narrowed. "Not one step closer, agent-man. I've got a taser, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Abbs," Tony said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. I don't need you getting arrested defending me. Just sort this out, all right?"

Abby nodded reluctantly but didn't step aside. Sacks stepped around her. He'd already pulled out his cuffs.

They weren't iron. There wasn't much point in trying to cuff a ghost, but Tony went along with it for appearances' sake. "Agent Slacks, was it? We'd better hurry if you don't want to get caught in the lunch hour traffic. Of course, if we do get stuck, it'll be a great chance to get to know each other. You strike me as a thriller fan. You seen the latest Bourne movie yet? I thought - "

"Shut. Up," Sacks growled as he steered him toward the door.

The door that Gibbs was still standing in front of.

It was tempting, so tempting, to stay right there and block the way. To insist that everyone wait until Abby could clear this up.

It was tempting to head downstairs and shove the specialist team bodily out the door. It was tempting to consider hitting Sacks over the head and making a run for it with his team.

It was tempting. But they weren't out of options yet, so Gibbs just took a minute to give Sacks a look that told him exactly what would happen if he mistreated Gibbs' agent before he finally stepped aside.

Tony shot him one last desperate look before he was led out the door.

I trust you, Tony, he tried to say without actually saying the words.

The doors slid shut before he could be sure Tony got the message.

 

 

"McGee."

Tim had answered Gibbs call almost immediately. "Boss! What's going on? Where's Tony?"

"Can you access old case files from wherever you are?"

"Not legally."

"McGee!"

"On it, Boss. What am I looking for?"

"People with grudges against DiNozzo."

The sound of typing paused. "Someone's after Tony?"

"Well, yeah, Tim. Considering someone's trying to frame him for murder, I would say so."

"They're what? Right, sorry. I'll get Ziva to help, but it's going to take a while, Boss. It would go quicker if we were back at the office. Any word on the hacking investigation?"

"They'll be gone by tomorrow," Gibbs promised before hanging up.

Hamlin looked up from his work. "Actually, Special Agent Gibbs - "

Gibbs leaned into his personal space threateningly. "Is that a problem, Agent Hamlin?"

Hamlin had guts, Gibbs had to give him that much. He actually looked like he was about to argue.

"Is the ghost here or not?" Gibbs demanded, knowing the answer full well.

"Not at the moment, no - "

"Then why are you?"

One of the other agents spoke up. "I've been looking through Agent McGee's search history. I think the ghost was trying to track someone down."

What was Tim up to? "Did he find them?"

The agent's eyes darted over to Hamlin before he answered. "Looks like it. I think he was trying to hitch a ride to the place."

"The place being . . . " Gibbs prompted with exaggerated patience.

"Forks, Washington."

If the last case hadn't involved a teenage girl, that would have meant nothing to Gibbs. As it was, he thought he could safely say that none of the agents here had daughters, because they were nodding like this made perfect sense.

Hamlin had enough sense to know something was up, but not enough that he was sure what. "If we find we've been hacked again, we will, of course, come back," Hamlin warned.

Gibbs gave him a look that asked, very clearly, what he was still doing in Gibbs' bullpen.

Hamlin got the hint.

 

 

The FBI's holding cells reminded him of something from an old western. The bars separating prisoner from guard didn't fit with the hastily added cameras that swiveled in the corners of the hall. It was an uneasy truce between an old cowboy tradition and the new way of doing things, and it didn't quite work.

Fornell had told him that the cells were going to be renovated soon. If she'd known he was thinking about it, the therapist he kept being forced to see would probably have some probing questions about what symbolism he saw in that and how it made him feel.

Gibbs didn't see much point in symbolism. He walked faster and came to a halt outside Tony's cell. The other nearby ones were empty.

As soon as Tony saw him, he was on his feet. "Any news?"

"McGee sent the agents who were sniffing around on a wild goose chase to the other side of the country."

"So he's clear, then." Tony had to already know the answer, but he asked anyway. "Me?"

"We're working on it."

Something in his eyes must have come across wrong because Tony took a deep breath and started talking too fast.

"You believe me, don't you, Boss? I know how this looks, but I'm not blood mad, I swear. I would _never_ \- "

"Tony," he interrupted.

"Yes, Boss?"

"I know."

The tension deserted Tony and without its bitter support, he sagged a bit, strings cut. "Thank you, Boss." His eyes flicked to what was in Gibbs' hands. "Is that pizza?"

It was a measure of how upset he was that it had taken him this long to realize it. Gibbs slid it through the bars.

"What do the others think?" he asked around a mouthful of sausage and extra cheese.

"No talking with your mouth full," Gibbs said automatically, even after all these years, and he moved on before he could remember too much. He knew what Tony meant, but he moved past it deliberately. "Tim said something about your luck breaking all known laws of probability. Ziva's trying to find people you've arrested that combine technical know-how with stupidity." _And neither even considered that you might be guilty,_ his tone implied. The same was true for Ducky and Palmer, and it had better be true for Vance.

Tony made a point of swallowing before he asked his next question. "Technical know-how and stupidity?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Technical know-how to get this far. Stupidity to think it would work."

Ziva had also said something about how if Tony had killed someone, he would have covered his tracks much better than this, but Gibbs didn't think that would be helpful.

"We'll get you out of here," Gibbs promised.

After all, if worst came to worst, Tony could just walk straight through the bars, and they could all head down to Mexico. Not the beaches, obviously, but they could find somewhere else.

Tony looked wistfully at the bed. Gibbs couldn't exactly tuck him in through the bars, but he could and did reach through them to squeeze his shoulder.

"We'll bring you home, kid."

Walking away from that cell was one of the harder things he'd had to do, but the guard had come looking, and he was out of time.

 

 

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! You'll never guess what Ducky found!"

Gibbs needed more coffee before he could deal with this. "What, Abbs?" he asked, shifting the phone.

"Blood under the victim's fingernails. Tony's blood."

"Tony doesn't bleed."

"Exactly," Abby crowed.

It was too early for this. "Get to the point, Abbs."

"The blood that's entered into the database as Tony's actually belongs to my brother Luka. He sends me a vial every month. The only way that blood could have gotten there is if someone broke into either mine or Ducky's store of it, and the only people who could have done that without setting off all kinds of alarms are me, and Ducky, and Palmer, and, and - "

Realization hit her at the same time it hit Gibbs.

Chip.

"Abby - "

Something clattered to the ground on the other end of the line. Muffled voices and the start of a pained shriek came through before the call abruptly cut off.

"Abby!" Gibbs took off running for the stairs. Tim and Ziva ran after him.

"Gibbs, what is going on?" Ziva demanded.

"Chip framed Tony. He's in the lab with Abby," Gibbs explained tersely. He pulled his gun from its holster and yanked the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

Not Abby, not Abby, not Abby -

He charged through the doors to the lab, gun ready.

Abby's phone lay shattered where it had fallen on the floor.

Abby was pointing her taser shakily at Chip, who was lying a few feet feet from the shattered phone and was cocooned in duct tape.

Gibbs lowered his slowly. "You all right, Abbs?"

Abby didn't lower her taser. "He needs to die."

Between the fact that Tony was still in an FBI holding cell and the blood that was dripping down Abby's arms, Gibbs was inclined to agree, but this wasn't the time for it. "Easy, Abbs." He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. Ziva started reading Chip his rights.

Abby was shaking. She looked down at the fingernail marks that had left bloody furrows in her arms. They weren't deep, but they were bleeding more than Gibbs would have liked.

"Let's get you down to Ducky."

She left him guide her out the door. "No more assistants," she mumbled.

"I think I can arrange that."

 

 

"So Mr. Sterling's mentor was killed by Agent DiNozzo in the line of duty, and he was out for revenge. That seems like the sort of thing that should have come up in a background check."

Gibbs gave Vance a look that said, _You're the one that hired him._ What he said was, "No more assistants."

Vance sighed. "Agreed. Has DiNozzo been released from custody yet?"

"He's on his way over now."

Vance settled back in chair. "What I want to know is how you figured it out. Your report was pretty vague on the details."

"Abby realized that the blood recovered from the scene wasn't fresh." True. "DiNozzo had donated a bit for an experiment Abby was running, and she realized some was missing. Chip panicked. Abby overpowered him." Partially true.

Vance gave him a long look, but he didn't pursue it. "And the other little matter?"

"Haven't heard from the FBI agents since they got to Washington."

"Uh-huh." Vance clearly suspected something, but Gibbs doubted he'd ever guess the truth.

The upside to the truth being completely insane.

"Director." Gibbs gave a semi-respectful nod and went to go see if Tony was back yet.

 

 

In hindsight, letting Tim be the one to answer the phone when Jackson called had been a mistake.

When Gibbs had promised his father he'd call at least once a week, he'd been planning to let his father do most of the talking and to keep the details of his job to himself.

Tim apparently hadn't thought of that, and Gibbs had just spent the past ten minutes trying to convince his father that the events of the past few days weren't as bad as they sounded.

Things had been exactly as bad as they sounded, but the kids were safe now, and he wasn't going to drive his father into an early grave by telling him every time something went wrong.

He couldn't exactly tell his dad that though, so he bit his tongue and tried to think of a way to calm him down.

 

 

Tony leaned against the kitchen door and smirked at Tim. "Gibbs is going to kill you."

"I wasn't thinking," Tim said miserably.

In the face of his misery, Tony relented. "It'll be fine."

Tim perked up. "Really?"

"Sure. I mean, you're already dead. How much can he do?"

"Tony," Ziva said disapprovingly. She was still in her adult form, but she looked uncomfortable in it.

"What?" he defended himself.

Ziva's phone interrupted any reply that might have been made. "Hello?" A smile spread across her face. "Of course. I will be there in an hour." She hung up and stop. "I must go."

"Who was it?" Tony asked.

"That is none of your business, Tony." She reached for her jacket.

Tony snatched it before she could. "Tell me."

"Tony . . . "

"I will get McHacker to invade your phone. Tell me."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Michael Rivkin. An old friend."

Tony's eyes sharpened. "As in an old friend from Mossad?"

Ziva stole her jacket back from Tony. "Why does it matter?"

"Gibbs needs to know."

"It is none of Gibbs' affair who I meet with outside of work."

"It is when it's Mossad," Tony insisted. "Tim?"

Tim backed away. "I'm staying out of this."

"This is not a vote," Ziva snapped. "It is private." She stormed out the door.

Gibbs emerged from the kitchen just as the front door slammed. "Everything all right?"

"Not sure yet," Tony muttered, eyeing the door. "Mossad's sniffing around."

"Want me to track where she's going?" Tim offered.

Gibbs shook his head, but his eyes were tight. Tony thought he could guess what he was thinking. He'd just pulled two of his agents out of trouble and now the third was diving right into it.

That was one good thing about being on this team, Tony thought. You were never bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: References to "Frame-Up", "Kill Screen", and "Legend: Part One". Thematic references to "Probie". For those of you who got the Twilight reference: Did you know that Forks is a real place? And McGee just sent a bunch of FBI agents to the rainiest place in the country . . . All the way on the other coast . . . And most likely with a name that's going to get them a LOT of weird looks.
> 
> Ah, the perils of interagency rivalry.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter: Rivkin (As you probably had already guessed.)


	17. Rivkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going to end well.

After the housewarming party shortly after she came to NCIS, Gibbs had told Ziva she was free to invite whoever she wanted to her apartment as long as it didn't hurt the team.

Technically, her having Michael Rivkin over didn't affect the team.

Right up until he was suspected of murder. Then?

Well, Tony felt justified in heading over to talk to her.

Although in hindsight, maybe he should have mentioned his plans to Gibbs.

 

Tony knocked on the worn door to Ziva's apartment. He'd gotten a taxi to drop him off. He could have, maybe should have, waited for Gibbs to get out of the director's office and gotten him to come do this, but when the pieces had finally fallen into place, he hadn't wanted to wait. Besides, there was no need to drag Gibbs into this unless they absolutely had to. Better to settle this quietly before it could get too out of hand.

No one answered his knock, but the door shifted open a bit. Tony frowned. Ziva was far too security conscious to leave her door unlocked, especially in a building like this.

He pushed open the door, hand ready on his gun.

The room hadn't changed much since he'd last been in it. Same dirty carpet, same hole pocked walls, same strictly practical furniture.

The Israeli assassin slouched on the couch drinking a cup of tea was new though.

Tony moved his hand away from his gun and twitched it toward his salt pack instead. It was still sand, not salt - why hadn't he and Gibbs considered this possibility? - but Rivkin didn't know that.

Rivkin looked up at him. "Ah, Tony. You are the coworker Ziva has spoken of, yes? The nosy one. I wondered if I would get a chance to meet you. Tea?" He gestured toward the pot of it sitting on the coffee table.

He could smell it faintly. It rang a distant bell somewhere in his mind.

"It's St. John's Wort," Rivkin continued. "Drinking this is as close as I can get to getting drunk these days." He took a long drink. "The downside of being dead."

"I wouldn't know." Well, the downsides of being dead he knew plenty about. The pros and cons of St. John's Wort versus alcohol, not so much.

Mossad really needed to work on their people's coping methods.

Tony took a careful step forward. "I do know, however, that a known terrorist's computer apparently used the WiFi here. You know anything about that?"

Rivkin leaned forward to refill his drink. "I am not a technologically inclined man, Agent DiNozzo. You'll have to ask one of your people about that."

"Mm. Don't suppose you know anything about the death of a federal agent, either, do you?"

Amusement glinted in his eyes. "Now why would you ask a question like that?"

Tony shrugged with forced casualness. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because despite the fact you've been drinking quite a bit of that tea, your eyes are still a bit pink around the edges. Going a bit blood mad, are we?"

Rivkin set the cup down. "St. John's Wort is a depressant for my kind. Something to take the edge off the mind, not steal the edge from the blood."

"So there _was_ blood, then." He pulled out his cuffs, more for effect than anything. "You're under arrest, Rivkin."

Rivkin actually laughed. "What do you possibly think you can prove?"

Tony felt his smile become sharp and dangerous. "I think you're a foreign ghost on American soil. I don't have to _prove_ anything." It was always nice when laws like that worked in their favor for once.

Rivkin considered this for a moment before throwing his cup of tea in Tony's face.

He'd probably meant for the force of the cup - because he'd thrown the whole thing, not just tossed the liquid - to catch him off guard. He'd probably meant for the still scalding tea to get in his eyes and distract him.

The heat was nice, and he didn't care about the cup.

The St. John's Wort, though . . .

Either Rivkin had built up an immunity to the stuff or he was a lot stronger than Tony, because one face full of the stuff, and things were already starting to get blurry around the edges.

It might not take the edge of the bloodlust like iron did or hurt like salt, but it hurt in plenty of other ways. It was a . . . tugging motion, like his mother pulling at his hand when he'd lingered too long outside the candy store window when he was five. _You don't want to miss the movie, do you?_ He could hear things just on the edge of his senses. Voices that seemed almost familiar. Warmth like he hadn't felt since a hotel room too many years ago.

Years of instincts drilled into him by Gibbs caught that Rivkin was moving, and he moved automatically to counter him. He threw the sand pack and tackled him when he flinched.

The fog of homesickness still clouded everything. Everything felt slightly out of touch with reality, especially the touch of ectoplasm on ectoplasm when he slammed Rivkin to the floor.

Rivkin went transparent and rolled straight through him. Tony flinched away from him, every part of him instinctively curling away from something that invasive, but his other hand was already coming around to do a wrist meld like Ziva had once pulled on him.

Rivkin roared as their wrists fused together. He used his free hand to pull the pot of tea still on the table down onto Tony's head.

It went straight through him. The pot shattered on the floor. Hot tea splattered up and into him.

He remembered everything after that in snippets, like shapes glimpsed through a fog.

_Voices saying something he couldn't quite hear, and shouldn't he go find out what it was?_

Reaching for a knife he'd glimpsed hiding in Rivkin's arm, shaking it loose from its sheath and stabbing him with it, praying it was iron -

_He'd stayed here too long. It was time to go. Time to move on. Gibbs would understand - Gibbs._

Iron in his shoulder, and iron didn't use to hurt like this, why did it hurt like this -

_Let go, let go, you've done your part. You've hurt enough._

_If he gave up, McGee would never let him forget it._

That thought didn't quite make sense but -

Gunshots. Useless unless they brought help.

The knife though -

Stab it down into his chest until it hits the wood. Not so solid now, are we? Eyes not so pink. Stab down, stab down, it's a battle of wills and how much of this stuff did Rivkin drink? He'd only had -

_The fog was pleasant and much better than the agony in his shoulder and the already looming difficulty of how he would explain what had happened. It would be easier -_

Too much, admittedly. Stab down, stab down, and where is he, _I don't see him, I want to go home -_

_It's time to go home._

_Not until I can bring the rest of them with me._

Rivkin was gone, and it wasn't the sort of neighborhood where the noise had drawn concern from the neighbors. He was alone in an apartment he didn't remember destroying to quite this extent with the fog slowly fading from his head.

It was different than iron. It didn't make him feel sick. Just . . . wistful. He couldn't stay here forever, after all. Maybe . . .

He shut that line of thinking down and stood. He couldn't do it without swaying. He hadn't realized that kind of physical reaction was possible for a ghost.

He glanced down at the knife still embedded in his shoulder. It was sliding through him like it never would have done through flesh.

He drew it out with two fingers and tossed it away.

He still felt weak. And dizzy. Could ghosts feel dizzy?

The floor looked appealing, but there was still tea on it, so he forced himself to move to the couch. This was nice. He could wait here until Ziva got home.

_You could go home._

Tony winced. Even in his fuddled state, he was pretty sure she wouldn't be happy to see him. Not after what had just happened.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Had it been doing that for a while?

He drew it out, hand shaking. "Hello?"

"Tony," Gibbs growled. He sounded angry, but it was the sort of angry he only got when he was worried, so that was all right. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Ziva's," he said brightly. "I've been redecorating."

Well, some of the furniture was smashed. That counted as redecorating, right?

From the sound of things, Gibbs was already on his way.

"What happened?" Gibbs demanded.

"Rivkin tried to kill me, but since I'm already dead, that didn't work out so well for him. I stabbed him. A lot. Mossad assassins really need to keep their iron knives in different places, Boss. This way it's too predictable."

"Is he gone?"

"Yep. Another one bites the dust. Well, most of him's probably already dust. He's just stopped hanging around to see what happens to that part." Tony stopped and rewound what he'd just said. "What were we talking about?"

Gibbs didn't answer the question. That was rude of him, but Gibbs could get like that sometimes. "Are you alright?"

Tony frowned. Just because they were all used to it didn't really give Gibbs an excuse to be rude. "That's not how this works, Boss. I asked you a question first."

"Tony!"

Okay, manners lessons could wait until later. "There was something weird in the tea. And something in my arm."

Tony doubted he could actually hear Gibbs hitting the gas through the phone, but he was pretty sure it had happened all the same.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Gibbs promised. "Stay on the phone. Do not hang up."

Don't hang up. He could do that. Especially since it meant he didn't have to move.

"Stay with me, Tony. I'm almost there."

"Not going anywhere," he promised. The words came out a little garbled. He tried again. "I'll be here."

"Ducky's right behind me," Gibbs promised. "What was in the tea?"

He felt really tired. Maybe everyone was wrong and ghosts could sleep after all.

He had to answer first though. Gibbs would get upset if he didn't answer. "St. John's Wort. I think that's what they were burning when I was on that undercover mission, Boss. It's different when you drink it. It's kind of nice, but it's made everything all foggy. Why don't they teach us about St. John's Wort? It seems like something we should know about. Did you know about it, Boss?"

He wasn't sure if Gibbs answered. The tugging feeling was gone, but he felt unbalanced in its absence. Maybe he should just curl up for a minute until the cloudiness in his thoughts went away. Just for a minute.

There was less of him than there should have been when he curled up on the couch, but that was all right. Gibbs and Ducky had both seen him like this before.

He thought he heard shouting coming from the phone, but it had fallen to the floor, and he didn't have the energy to go after it.

Gibbs would find him. Everything would be fine.

 

Something cold and caffeinated hit him in the face. He lurched up at the surge of energy and looked around.

The fogginess was gone. Gibbs was standing over him with an empty cup and looking torn between being furious and being worried. When had he gotten here?

He shuddered a little as his body absorbed the energy. "Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs apparently decided that he would be fine and settled on furious. "What were you thinking?"

Ducky emerged from the kitchen with a can of soda. "Give the poor lad a minute, Jethro," he rebuked. "Here, Anthony, drink this. It will help get your strength back up."

Tony took the drink gratefully. "Thanks, Duck."

Gibbs glare suggested he stop putting off answering the question.

What had he been thinking?

"I'm sorry?" he offered hopefully.

Gibbs didn't grace that with a response. Instead, he turned his glare on Ducky. "What's St. John's Wort do, and why don't I know about it?"

Ducky picked up one of the shattered pieces of the teapot. "It's historically been used to drive off 'evil' spirits - by burning the herb, traditionally. Weak ghosts will indeed vanish at the smell, but stronger ones merely become sluggish and confused. it's slow acting and much less reliable then salt or iron which is why it hasn't been weaponized. For the living, it's used both in teas and as a natural medicine. You said Rivkin was drinking this?"

"Apparently it was the closest he could get to drunk."

"Indeed! For obvious reasons, there's been little study on the effect drinking it has on ghosts, but I can well believe it would cloud his thought processes. Interestingly, 'wort' not only means herb, it also refers to the infusion of a grain before fermentation to create certain alcoholic beverages. Particularly interesting given his use for the drink - "

"Duck."

"Anthony will be fine," Ducky assured him. "A bit more sugar and he should be right as rain. Rivkin, on the other hand, may prove a thornier issue. Without even a body to examine, proving what happened here tonight may prove difficult."

"Ziva will be mad," Tony mumbled. "She really liked him. Where is Ziva, anyway?"

"She's back at the Navy Yard talking to Director Vance." Gibbs gave Tony one last hard look before relenting. "Come on, kid. Let's get you home. I'll call Tim to come process the scene."

Scene. Ziva's apartment was a crime scene.

"I thought she was here," Tony said. "I thought she'd left to come here. I just wanted to talk to her."

Gibbs helped him up from the couch. "No more going off alone without backup."

"You do it," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you'd be better off not being too much like me, DiNozzo. Come on. Let's see if that silver tongue of yours can find some way to explain this to Director Vance."

Tony groaned.

 

What had happened hadn't been Tony's fault, but that didn't stop Vance from throwing him to the wolves. It didn't stop Ziva from retreating step by careful step into herself either.

Outwardly, she was angry, but Gibbs could deal with that. He was long used to mediating conflicts with his kids. Had been since he'd first brought Kate home.

He could deal with the too barbed words and even the hastily concealed scuffles between the two of them. If they were fighting, then they were getting it out of their systems. Tony, his anger that she hadn't been more forthcoming about Rivkin, (and his more childish hurt that she could care that deeply for someone who wasn't one of them). Ziva, her fury that Rivkin was gone by Tony's hand, (and her more hidden fear that it could have been the other way around).

He could deal with that. But this retreat of the Ziva that was his back behind the walls of the Ziva who was no one's not even herself's . . . That scared him. Scared him like leaving Tim behind on another continent, even in Ducky's capable hands, scared him. Scared him like letting Tony walk into that interrogation room alone scared him.

It wasn't fear that led to the barbs he exchanged with Director David, though, at least not for his part.

It was fury. Fury spawned by the way Director David's eyes were always busy with his papers or the window and never rested on his daughter. Fury at the casual ownership he assumed towards her nonetheless. Furious at the way she still sought his approval and accepted the absent scraps she was thrown.

Oh, Gibbs was furious, all right. Furious that even though Director David was fighting for Ziva, he wasn't fighting nearly hard enough. Furious that he didn't seem to realize what a precious gift he still had.

Furious because he knew how Ziva had died.

He was proud of Tony, more proud than he could say, when the ten year old agent tied the Director of Mossad into knots with his own words and walked out of the interrogation room victorious. Proud, a little vindictively happy . . . And even more furious than before, because Director David had threatened his son.

Tim called and asked if everything was okay, and Gibbs wasn't sure what to tell him.

 

He could see his Ziva peeking out from behind her walls again right before they were supposed to board the plane. It reminded him of when they had first met: he could see the little girl, lost, afraid, and needing help, but just a bit out of his reach.

"I want to go home," she told him.

Gibbs had an idea of what was coming, but he wasn't about to let her go without a fight. "Come on then," he said with what sounded like impatience but what was closer to fear. "Plane's waiting."

She shook her head, slowly. "I will need . . . time. Before I can work with Tony again."

"He did what he had to do."

"There is always another way, Gibbs. You taught me that." She shook her head again to forestall his answer. "Rivkin was - It does not matter now. It is done. But as I said, I will require time."

He had no objection to her taking any amount of time she needed, but he saw what she was angling for now even if she refused to ask outright. He tried to avoid it anyway. "If you need leave - "

"I need to work."

That he could understand. "But you won't work with Tony."

"No."

She wouldn't ask, couldn't ask, but he could see the pleading in her eyes.

She wanted to be first to someone for once. She wanted to be enough, to be worthy, and to have a measure of that worth, something tangible to comfort herself with.

When it came to his kids - and she was one of his, whether she admitted it or not - there was almost nothing Gibbs wouldn't do for them. And if she had needed one of those verbal confessions that came so hard for him, if she had needed him to take leave so that she would not be alone, if she had needed any other sort of reassurance, he would have given it to her in a heartbeat.

But when it came to negotiations, his kids were never bargaining chips, no matter how high the stakes.

Maybe he could have transferred Agent DiNozzo to save Ziva. Maybe. But he couldn't push away the bright, smiling kid who'd been left alone to die, no matter what the reason. Not even if Tony volunteered to go.

He could help her. He could help his daughter, the third chance he'd had at one.

But the one thing she wanted was one of two things he couldn't give up, and it wasn't what she needed long term anyway. She needed to know that family was forever, not that it could be pushed aside if the right person asked.

She wouldn't ask because she was smart enough to know his answer, but her eyes pleaded with him to reconsider.

If he left her, Eli David wouldn't look at her when he sent her out on missions that would stain her weary soul. If he left her here, she could vanish beneath the weight of her own guilt.

When Kelly had been seven years old, she'd been over at a friend's house when she'd done something. Gibbs had long ago forgotten what in the blur of what happened next. It had been wrong, whatever it was, and she had run away, convinced her parents wouldn't love her anymore.

It had been a small thing, blown out of proportion by a child's mind, and they'd found her within the hour, but Gibbs had never forgotten the pounding fear that hour had brought.

He hadn't forgotten what he'd told her either. He said the same thing, more or less, to Ziva.

"When you're ready, you come home," he ordered. "No matter what happens or what you do, come home."

He'd left Kelly for the war, and she'd left him before he could come back. Kate had left him, and then he'd given up and left her. He'd left Tony in FBI hands and Tim a continent away.

He'd done it far too many times, but it still ripped his soul to pieces every time he had to turn and leave one of his kids.

"Gibbs . . . "

He stopped and looked back. It wasn't too late. It was _never_ too late.

But the vulnerability on Ziva's face was replaced by steel. "I _am_ home."

Gibbs didn't trust himself to speak. If he did, he might start shouting, and that wouldn't help anything.

He nodded and resisted the urge to go acquaint Eli David with his sniper rifle and grab Ziva and force her to come back.

He couldn't quite make himself get on the plane without her, though. She was the first to turn away and stride back to one of the waiting cars. He watched until the car was gone, giving her every chance he could, before he climbed onto the plane.

Vance was confused and trying not to show it.

Tony hadn't heard the conversation, but he'd seen her walk away. "Boss - "

Gibbs just shook his head again. His cell phone burned a hole in his pocket. He'd have to tell Tim. Abby. Ducky. Palmer would need to know too, he supposed, but Ducky could take care of that one at least.

And Vance would want an explanation.

Gibbs strapped himself in and stared at the opposite wall, remembering a little girl's tears and his voice rough with restrained emotion making her promise to always, always come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major references to "Semper Fidelis" and "Aliyah"; minor reference to "Newborn King" during Tony and Gibbs' argument.
> 
> Next chapter: Daatan Muuqasho, which, according to Google Translate, is Somali for "Ghost Eater". Well, specifically, if you type in "translate ghost into Somali" you get muuqasho. If you type in muuqasho, you get "appear".
> 
> I don't speak Somali, so just go with "Ghost Eater", and if you happen to know the language, feel free to correct me.
> 
> St. John's Wort is a real thing by the way and really was once used to exorcise evil spirits, at least according to Google. Ducky's rant about it was heavily influenced by a quick dictionary search, but all the rest of it was made up. The herb supposedly worked by being obnoxious, not by making ghosts homesick.


	18. Daatan Muuqasho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains torture.

"It's gonna be all right, Tim."

The veracity of that statement was somewhat undermined by the strained tone, brought on by more pain than Tony could repress.

Tim tried to say something equally encouraging, but it came out as more of a whimper. Tony didn't blame him. Thorns that looked more like railroad spikes had been driven through their hands into planks of wood. Thick red lines spread out from where the thorns touched them and forced everything they touched to stay in its present form. Tony, at least, got to sit, with the plank thrown over the back of the chair, yanking his arms back, and with two more thorns securing his feet to the floor. Tim's plank had been secured to the wall, and he'd been left to dangle from it. His arms were still in their grown up form, but the rest of him had reverted to his younger self. The mismatch looked painful.

Tony could feel each of the red lines pulsing through his arms and legs. It felt like termites burrowing through his skin.

But he was the oldest which meant he couldn't break down over it. He drew in another breath and forced himself to remember there was no need to gasp. "Look on the bright side, Probie. If we were back at the Navy Yard, we'd be doing paperwork right now."

Tim, to his eternal credit, managed a laugh.

Tony was glad of that, because he thought he heard footsteps coming towards their door.

 

Vance had assigned replacement agents. Women, typically, all of them bright and dedicated.

Intelligent agents who didn't like ghosts made Tony wary, Tim nervous, and Gibbs nearly unbearable to work for.

Tony and Tim made a game of seeing how long it took to get the agents to quit.

Their record was five minutes and involved the fire alarm, mysterious white powder, and someone putting decaf coffee on Gibbs' desk.

They were justifiably proud of that one in Tony's opinion. Gibbs was amused even if he wouldn't show it, he was sure. Well, he was amused once they handed him his actual coffee.

And Vance, for all his exasperation, had smiled. At the very least, his lips had twitched. Tony was sure of it.

 

There had been a plan. It had been a good plan.

Tony wasn't quite sure where that plan had gone wrong, but somewhere around the time they'd been thrown in here, he'd realized getting it back on track might not be something he was capable of pulling off.

With that in mind, he'd been hoping for some time to think, but thinking was hard when you felt like you were being eaten from the inside out, and he was out of time. The door was pulled open.

Saleem Ulman walked in. He wasn't smiling, but he looked satisfied, and that made Tony nervous.

Naturally, he wasn't about to admit that. He forced a grin instead. "Come on in. Make yourself comfortable. I'd offer you some refreshments, but . . . " He shrugged in a helpless, 'What can you do?' sort of way.

Saleem did smile then. "The refreshments will have to wait a bit longer, I think." He walked up to Tony and tapped the red lines spreading up his arm. Burning pain shot up from the spot where he'd touched. Tony flinched. "They do not look quite ready yet."

Tim shot Tony a panicked look that nonetheless seemed to contain a certain amount of 'I told you so' in it which was impressive, even if Tony wasn't really in a position to appreciate it.

Tony just kept smiling. It was just a stupid nickname meant to inspire fear.

Right?

 

"Daatan Muuqasho," Abby announced as they walked into her lab.

Tony blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"It's what they call him," she said, pointing to the profile of a man pulled up on her computer screen. "He's a terrorist in Somalia. His given name's Saleem Ulman, but they call him the Daatan Muusqasho."

Tim walked over to peer over her shoulder. "What's that, some kind of title?"

Abby bobbed a little nervously. "Sort of. It means 'ghost eater'."

Tim jumped back from the screen like it was about to bite. "He eats ghosts?"

Tony laughed and slapped him on the back. "Don't be ridiculous, McGullible. You can't eat a ghost. It's just a name."

"Weell," Abby drew out.

Tony looked at her. "It is just a name, right?"

"Sure," she said a little too quickly.

"How do you eat a ghost?" Tony demanded.

Abby waved a dismissive hand. "That's not the important part."

"I think that's a very important part!" Tim said.

Abby pushed determinedly on. "The important part is I think that's who Ziva's dad is going to send her after. She's boarding a plane soon that's going to bring her into the area on the down low."

"If it's so secret, how'd you find out about it?" Tony asked.

Abby smiled in self satisfaction. "Because I am magic. And if you want to keep getting updates on Ziva, then I will need more Caff-POWs to fuel the magic."

"Abracadabra," Tony said, bowing with a flourish and pulling one out from behind his back. "Any updates on the case?"

"Not yet." Abby took a happy slurp of her drink. "Tell Gibbs to come down in a hour."

"Will do." Tony headed out of the lab. Tim hurried after him.

"Ghost eater," he muttered. "You don't think - "

"I've found it's best not to," Tony advised.

Because if he thought, he'd have to think of Ziva going up against someone like that without them there to watch her back.

 

Saleem sat down in the chair across from him. "You took down quite a few of my men, Agent . . . "

"What makes you think I'm an agent?"

Saleem pulled Tony's badge out of one of the pouches snapped around his waist. "Unfortunately, the part with your name was destroyed in the fight."

"I'm Bond," Tony offered. "James Bond."

Saleem leaned forward. "I spent time at one of your American universities. An unfortunate amount of your culture managed to seep into my memory. I suggest you try again."

"Agent Kay?" he tried.

Saleem pulled something else out of his pouch. Tony decided to start referring to it as a fanny pack.

It was another one of the strange red thorns. Saleem twirled it carefully between in his fingers.

"Not a _Men in Black_ fan, huh?"

Saleem jammed it into his leg.

Tony couldn't hold back a scream at the agony that ripped through him.

"Tony!" McGee yelled.

"Tony, hmm? Do you have a last name, Agent Tony?"

Names wouldn't matter, would they? In the movies, even the tough prisoners gave their name. Name and rank.

He fought to bring himself back under control. "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS," he managed to choke out.

Technically, there should be a junior in there somewhere, but he wasn't about to bring up his dad, even obliquely.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Take it out," Tony demanded through gritted teeth.

"I have more questions. What does NCIS want with me?"

Tony shook his head.

"As you wish." Saleem yanked the thorn out. The removal pulled an involuntary gasp of additional pain from Tony, but it ended in a sigh of relief.

Until Saleem got up with it and started walking toward McGee.

"You don't want to do that," Tony said quickly. "He'll scream a girl. Probably bust your eardrums at that range."

Saleem looked back at him. "I would hate to risk it. Do you have something more pleasant for me to hear?"

"Tony never does," Tim said.

They were ghosts. It didn't matter where they were injured. Salt was salt and iron was iron no matter where it touched a ghost, and the same went for whatever these plants were.

Tony still couldn't contain a flinch when Saleem nailed it right through McGee's forehead. Just like where Kate had gotten hit.

Tim was screaming. Tony lurched forward, the plank hitting the chair, and ignored the pain of the thorns ripping through his hands. "He's a kid!" he yelled. "He's just a kid!"

"That is what I find so disgusting about your kind," Saleem said quietly. "You can be anywhere. Look like anything. Kill and maim and look ever so innocent as you do so."

Tim was writhing, and Tony wasn't sure how much longer he could hang on. Could they still choose to vanish or would the thorns ground them to this half-life just like they forced them into one shape?

He couldn't risk it. "Yeah, well, that's what we were here to do," Tony said. "Maim. Kill, preferably. You're the intended target, of course, but you already knew that."

"Why does NCIS want me dead?"

"Why don't you take that thorn out of my colleague's head and you can find out?"

Saleem considered this for a moment that lasted an eternity before he finally pulled it out. He considered the tip of it carefully before gently pressing it down into the skin of his own arm.

McGee was still gasping. Tony gaped at him. "Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing?"

Saleem waved a hand at the thorns still holding Tim to the wall. "These thorns are coated with a substance that's not entirely natural. I mixed it up carefully." He walked back over to Tony. "For all your kind disgusts me, you do have great power. This process allows me to, how shall I put this? Steal a bit of it. The energy that flows through you is incredible! To taste even a bit is well worth a bit of pain. It puts any caffeine buzz to shame."

Ghost eater, Tony thought. Not entirely true, but close enough.

And disturbing.

"Now, I believe you promised me some answers."

"You killed one of ours, Saleem. We want vengeance."

"I do not recall ever seeing another NCIS agent here."

"She was working with Mossad."

Saleem tilted his head. "Now one of those, I have seen, but as I recall, she was already dead." He tapped his finger against his lips. "She was the best buzz I've ever found, but even she started to go a bit flat after a while."

"She was a person, not a soda," Tony growled.

"She was nothing, in the end. Much like you. She held out for much longer. You gave in within in the hour. You are pathetic."

"Fair enough," Tony allowed. "But if I'm pathetic, what does that make you? After all, I found you. I found your unfindable camp. The only reason you caught us was pure bad luck, and you won't be so lucky next time."

"Next time?"

Tony shrugged, wincing as he did so. "You didn't think we were so stupid as to come out here without telling anyone, did you? They just sent us in first to soften you up." That was a blatant lie. Gibbs hadn't wanted them to come at all. "They'll have the best of the best coming in soon."

"When?" Saleem demanded.

Tony wished he could lean his chair back to give himself a jaunty air. "Even I'm not so pathetic as to mess up my own rescue, Saleem. You're going to have to figure it out all on your lonesome."

"Will I?"

Salem stormed out.

McGee said what he was thinking. "That didn't sound good."

 

Hearing Ziva's plane had gone down wasn't as alarming as the director assumed it would be, but they had to pretend it was.

Waiting as Ziva missed each and every checkin with Mossad was alarming, but they weren't supposed to know about that, so they had to pretend it wasn't.

Watching Gibbs glare at him as he made the case for this mission to the director was every bit as alarming as anyone could have imagined, but Tony had done it anyway.

Gibbs was all for the mission, but dead set against them coming. When the director gave the go ahead though, he couldn't argue. Not without raising suspicion.

Gibbs would forgive him. Eventually.

That's what he told McGee, anyway.

 

Okay, so maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea. Tony could admit that now.

But they'd lost one sister. Losing another was too much to take, particularly without fighting it. He'd watched Gibbs blame himself, watched Abby droop, and had felt the same crushing grief inside himself that he saw in Tim.

They couldn't do this again. Going after Saleem had been the logical thing to do. The plan had just been somewhat lacking, but that was okay.

The thing about keeping ghosts prisoner was that it was hard to search them thoroughly. Small items were easy to miss.

Like trackers, for instance.

Gibbs would be here soon. They just had to wait for him .

"You all right, Tony?" Tim asked.

He couldn't remember ever feeling worse, actually, but it wouldn't do him any good to say that. "Just couldn't seem to stop talking, could I, McGee?"

"It's not like you told him anything classified," Tim offered.

"He's gonna ask about who else is coming again," Tony warned.

McGee thankfully caught on immediately. "And you can't tell him this time."

"Which means he'll move on to you."

"I'll tell him we've got three teams moving in from Narnia."

"McNerd."

"Whatever you say, 007."

Tony let out a gasping laugh that felt more like a sob.

Had to be strong for Tim. Had to wait for Gibbs. Everything would be fine.

The door slammed open. Saleem was back with another prisoner whose hands were pounded into a wooden frame with thorns like theirs were. More thorns dotted her body like they'd learned all too well how dangerous it could be if not contained.

If Tony'd still had a heart, it would have skipped a beat.

"Ziva."

Saleem pushed her into the other chair. Her pain filled eyes flitted around the room and settled on Tony. They widened in horror.

Looking at her, Tony was pretty sure he had his answer about whether or not they could move on with these thorns stuck in them.

"Talk," Saleem demanded.

"Oh, talking's not the problem," Tony said. "It's getting me to stop talking that's the real challenge. Ask anyone. Ziva especially. It always really gets on her nerves, or so she says, but I think it's growing on her. Is it growing on you yet? Someone compared liking me to Stockholm Syndrome once. That won't really work here since you're the kidnapper, but you get the idea." He frowned. "Is reverse Stockholm Syndrome a thing?"

Talking incessantly until Gibbs showed up wasn't really a strategy so much as a desperate fragment of a plan to get Saleem so annoyed at Tony that he ignored the others, but it was all he had.

"It is no wonder someone felt the need to kill you," Saleem growled.

"Abandoned me actually. I don't think he actually intended for me to die - "

Well, the plan was working. Sort of. Saleem was definitely stalking towards Tony.

Unfortunately, Tim, copycat that he was, saw what was going on and stole his idea.

"I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves and this is how it goes - "

Saleem paused in the middle of the room to look at Tim incredulously.

Tony cut in hastily. "Tim, when you're singing it, any song would get on people's nerves." Tim definitely didn't have a future in the music industry, he'd put it that way.

Ziva chose then of all times to start talking. "It is still better than your talking," she whispered hoarsely.

Really? After all these months that was what she had to say to him?

At least she wasn't poking fun at Saleem. That was something.

She swallowed. "Of course, either of you are preferable to Slop Eater, here."

. . . And he should have known better than to jinx himself like that. They were all going to die. Again. And then Gibbs was going to pour blood on his bones so that he could bring Tony back and kill him a third time for letting this happen.

Saleem looked about ready to explode. "How does such a useless team function?"

"Oh, that's easy," Tony said brightly. "You should meet our boss."

Saleem was looking interested instead of explosive which was something, at least, but Tony wasn't sure how much he could safely tell him about Gibbs. "Your boss? What about him?"

"Why don't you ask me yourself?"

All four of them jumped - or, well, twitched in three of their cases.

Gibbs was standing in the doorway. His gun was out and ready, but based on the fact that they hadn't heard any shots, Tony was willing to bet that the knife that was jammed into his belt wasn't exactly blood free.

Saleem was gaping at him. "How - "

Gibbs fired. Saleem fell back onto the dusty floor.

"You took my kids," Gibbs said, like that was explanation enough.

 

The plane ride home was quiet, not for lack of things to say, but because there were other people around that didn't need to hear it.

Vance was one of them, and he couldn't seem to decide between being annoyed and impressed at what Gibbs had done. Gibbs didn't care much either way.

Tony and Tim flanked Ziva the whole way home like they were trying to protect her from the world. Most of the time, she would have fought them for thinking she needed it, but just this once she let it go. Good girl.

Tony had seemed a little nervous when they'd first gotten on the plane, like he was expecting Gibbs to chew him out, so Gibbs gave them all a quiet, "Well done." Whatever he hadn't agreed with didn't matter now. They were safe, and they were going home.

There was no one waiting for them when the plane landed.

"The others wanted to be here," Gibbs told Ziva quietly, "but I didn't want to overwhelm you. You can see them when you're ready."

She nodded, still seeming a bit stunned by all that had happened. "Gibbs - Thank you. For . . . For more than just this."

"You do what it takes for family," Gibbs told her as he pulled the car door open.

Ziva hesitated before she got in. "My lease on my apartment will have lapsed. I do not know - "

"Come home," Tim suggested.

"Seconded," Tony said, going around to the other side of the car.

She looked up at Gibbs. He inclined his head.

She nodded a bit hesitantly. "If you are sure."

 

He woke up the next morning to find all three of his kids had crawled into his bed and were debating the pros and cons of the three Men in Black movies. They were giggling more than arguing, even Ziva, though her laughter was more hesitant and her eyes were still haunted.

They could work on that, now that she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to "Truth or Consequences". The Stockholm Syndrome line is also adapted from the show.
> 
> Coming up, a chapter that will, for obvious reasons, be very AU from the show. Chapter title: Sr.


	19. Senior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There have been a lot of criminals Gibbs wished he could shoot, but this was a special case.

"What've we got?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony sprang to his feet and pulled up the slideshow. "Our victim was as clean as a whistle. His financial advisor, not so much."

McGee jumped in. "It looks like he was being scammed, Boss. I did some electronic digging and found out that he wasn't the only one to get victimized by it. It's been going on for a while."

"So he finds out, he confronts them, and they panic and kill him," Ziva theorized.

Tony pointed the clicker at her. "Exactly. Only problem is, Boss, we're having a hard time tracking this scam back to the source. We've got the low level members pegged, but this thing was pretty complicated. It's set up to look like a legitimate business. Some of the people might not have even known what they were getting themselves into."

"Hold it," Tim said. "I've got something. I finally managed to get past their safeguards."

"And?" Gibbs said.

Tim leaned toward his screen. "Here we go." Two pictures flew up onto the big screen. "We've got Harold Odair and - "

Tony was staring at the other picture. "Anthony DiNozzo Sr."

After all this time, the man was finally in reach.

Gibbs' trigger finger started feeling itchy.

 

Tony had helped track down a lot of criminals, and, despite Gibbs' rules about getting personally involved in a case, it had gotten plenty personal before.

Tracking down his own father, though, was . . . different. As much as he wanted him caught, there was still a small part of him that wanted nothing more than to hear that it had all been a big mistake and that his father loved him deep down.

Deep, deep down.

Ziva saw the expression on his face and misinterpreted it. "We will catch him, Tony," she assured him.

He forced himself to smile. "Of course we will. Gibbs hasn't let a man get away yet."

"Got it!"

Tony swiveled his chair to look at McGee. "Got what?"

"I pinged your dad's phone. He's at the Adams House Hotel."

"Grab your gear," Gibbs ordered, standing from his desk. "Not you, DiNozzo."

Tony froze. "Boss?"

Gibbs' pointed look softened a little. "I don't want him asking questions when someone yells 'DiNozzo' in the field."

Tony winced and sat back down. "Right. Have fun."

"Don't just sit there, go help Abby," Gibbs ordered as he headed toward the elevator.

"She's been fussing over me ever since we knew my dad was involved in the case!" Tony protested.

The elevator doors had already slid shut. Tony sighed and went to go follow orders.

 

Some criminals Gibbs wished he could punch. (Some criminals Gibbs _did_ punch.) Some criminals he wished he could shoot. (Some criminals he had.)

He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to do to Anthony DiNozzo Sr., but he knew it was violent, and he knew McGee could probably do something to the tapes in the interrogation room to help him get away with it.

That thought wasn't helping his impulse control.

He'd hated Senior for as long as he'd known about him. Recent events had intensified that hatred, if that was possible.

Gibbs wasn't sure that it was.

The older man looked up at him as he walked in, letting the door slam shut behind him. "Ah, finally! I was wondering when someone was going to come tell me what this was about so that we could get it all cleared up." He smiled.

It was a charming smile, full of bright teeth and warm confidence.

It was also the exact same smile Tony used when he really didn't feel like smiling at all. Gibbs was not only immune to it, he'd learned to actively dislike it.

He slapped the file down onto the table and pulled out the crime scene pictures of the dead Marine.

Senior glanced at them quickly before looking away. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize him at all." He frowned. "You look familiar, though. Have we met before?"

"That was Captain Peter Reeves," Gibbs said quietly. "You killed him."

Senior blanched. Whatever questions he'd had were promptly forgotten. "That's ridiculous. I'd never kill anyone."

Gibbs walked around behind him. "Not directly," he agreed. "It's not your style." And Abby unfortunately had the forensics to prove it. "You didn't pull the trigger. You just didn't stop the guy that did."

"I told you I had no - " Senior twisted around to look at him. Gibbs finished circling the table and finally took a seat.

"You just . . . Let things happen," Gibbs said, deceptively mildly. "You've done it before."

He pulled the second set of pictures out of the folder. Senior closed his eyes.

"Oh, no, you don't," Gibbs growled. "Look at them. Look at him! For once in your life, look at your son!" He slammed his hand down onto the table.

Senior flinched at the abrupt sound and forced himself to look down.

The pictures were of the grave being dug up. It was hard to look at the bones and think of them as Tony. It had been even harder when Tony had been standing right there looking at them.

"You were the agent," Senior said slowly. "You were the one that accused me of being responsible for my son's death."

"You _are_ responsible."

Senior shook his head. "That was years ago. The court declared me not guilty. You can't just bring this up again! Do you have any idea what kind of emotional toll your accusations took on me?"

"Do I look like I care?" Gibbs snarled. "I met him. That's what your lawyer wouldn't let me say in court. I talked to your son, and he told me about being left in that hotel room. He told me about how he waited and waited for you to come back. He told me you buried him, and he told me he was waiting for you to come back. After twenty years and everything that had happened, your son still had that kind of faith in you, and you. Don't. Deserve. It." Gibbs leaned forward. "You know why he told me all that? Because I told him that he had to move on, one way or the other, and I was hoping he'd want something I could settle. I could have given him justice. I gave him a proper grave. But nothing I could do could make you be a half decent father."

Senior was slowly shaking his head. His face was white with shock. "It was a ghost," he finally managed. "Ghosts lie."

"Not nearly as often as the living do."

Senior swallowed. "It doesn't matter now. It's not relevant to your current case, and if you don't drop this line of questioning now, my lawyer's going to have a field day with you."

"It doesn't _matter?"_ Gibbs demanded.

He tried to imagine, under any circumstances, saying Kelly or Kate's deaths didn't matter.

Getting McGee to fiddle with the security tapes was getting tempting.

But Captain Reeves deserved justice too. He forced himself to focus on the present case.

"I think I want my phone call now," Senior said.

Gibbs smiled. "Knock yourself out. Only, I hope you weren't planning on getting that big fancy lawyer you used last time. I had a peek at your finances." He pulled the spreadsheet set out from the file. "Your company's not doing so well, is it?"

"It's having a bit of a downturn, but where isn't in this economy? I'm sure we'll get back on track soon."

"Not if Captain Reeves had gone public with your scam, you wouldn't. Is that why you killed him?"

"I didn't kill anyone. You said yourself that your forensics cleared me."

"I said our forensics proved you didn't pull the trigger," Gibbs corrected. "But conspiracy to commit murder, well . . . That's not looked too kindly on either."

Senior's eyes were looking wild. "Conspiracy?"

"We've got the messages between you and Mr. Odair," Gibbs said.

"We're business partners! We talk frequently. There's nothing wrong with that."

"That's not what Odair's been saying. We've got him for murder. He's trying to bargain for a lighter sentence by turning you in."

"I didn't even know anything until he'd already done it!

This time, Gibbs' smile was real. A bit wolf like, but real.

"And the scam?"

Senior was falling apart at the seams. "No one was supposed to get hurt."

Gibbs pushed a pad of paper at him. "Then sign a confession and steal Odair's thunder."

Senior hesitated before picking up the pen. Then he started to write. "I can get some sort of deal for this, right?" he said as he handed it over.

"Well, you won't go down for murder," GIbbs said. "But with the time you will get and your age, well . . . I wouldn't count on getting out again."

Senior stared at him in horror.

Gibbs pushed his chair back and stood. "I'd better go see if McGee's tracked down Odair yet."

"But you said - "

Gibbs let the door slam shut on Senior's plaintive voice.

For once, walking away felt very, very good.

 

Three sets of eyes stared through the glass in the observation room.

"So that is your father," Ziva said. She was still raw from Somalia, but concern over this case had put a bit more life back into her. That was something good that had come out all of this at least.

"Yeah, that's dear old dad," Tony said, plastering a bright smile on his face. "Could be worse, right?" Compared to Eli David and Admiral John McGee, his dad wasn't all that bad, really. "Stop looking at me like that, McGoo," he snapped. The last thing he needed was Tim's sympathy. He was fine. He hadn't cared about his father for years. It was a relief to arrest him, that was all.

And maybe someday he'd finally convince himself of that.

They all jumped as the observation room door opened. Gibbs leaned in, eyebrows raised. "I thought you were supposed to be in the bullpen. Working."

"I am sorry, Gibbs - "

"On it, Boss - "

"Right away, sorry, sorry - "

Tony collected himself enough to grin and say, "At least we didn't bring popcorn this time, Boss."

"I meant to steal some from Palmer," Tim muttered.

"They had popcorn?" Ziva inquired.

"Yeah, they were going to watch on the big screen - " He gulped. Gibbs was giving him a look. "Er, sorry, Boss."

"Just find Odair, McGee."

"On it, Boss." He and Ziva hurried out of the room.

Gibbs watched them go, eyes lingering a bit on Ziva to make sure this hadn't brought up bad memories of her own father, before turning back to Tony.

They couldn't say much with the tech still in the room, but Tony knew Gibbs had never really been one for saying much anyway.

"Thanks, Boss."

"He deserves worse," Gibbs growled.

Tony shrugged. "Reeves will get justice."

Gibbs gave him a look that asked very clearly, _And you?_

Tony gave him a smile that answered, _Things turned out all right, didn't they?_ Maybe it was better things had worked out this way. Better this family made up of his team than the one of blood he would have had if he'd grown up the normal way.

He thought of the way Abby had offered to kill Senior without leaving any evidence, of Ducky's long rants on what he would like to do with the man, of Ziva putting aside her own cares in order to look after him. He thought of Tim pouring all his effort into tracking Senior down in record time and of Palmer leaving a salt-free hot chocolate on his desk with a nervous smile. He thought of Jackson calling him and giving him a break from thinking about the whole mess for a few hours.

And now Gibbs was standing here, willing to talk, despite his discomfort with conversation.

Tony's smile broadened. "I'm fine, Boss."

He couldn't say he didn't have the urge to look back as he walked away, but he _could_ say that he didn't have too many regrets about resisting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know, but I could only put Gibbs in a room with Senior for so long before punches started getting thrown. Hopefully it was still satisfying.
> 
> I apologize for not posting yesterday. By the time I got home, I was too tired to edit anything. To make up for it, I'll be posting a oneshot for this AU today in addition to this chapter.
> 
> Next chapter (title subject to change): Old Sins.
> 
> What happens in Mexico doesn't necessarily stay in Mexico.


	20. Old Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hatchet might be buried, but it can always be dug up.

Once, not long after Gibbs had regained his memory, they'd gone into an old house where the biggest danger should have been tripping over the overstuffed pink furniture if they had to chase their suspect. Something on the edge of Gibbs' senses had made his gut tense warningly while they cleared the house, though, so he'd been ready for it when Ziva had shouted, "Bomb!"

There hadn't been time to disarm it. Instead, the rest of the team had tackled Gibbs to the ground and covered him in a protective huddle. Gibbs'd had words with them about that later. Their reasoning was that he was the most - well, not vulnerable, because none of them were stupid enough to say that, but the most prone to bleeding, to put it one way. His reasoning was one part how easily the pile of shrapnel Ducky had pulled out of all of them could have been iron, and three parts automatic instinct that said they were never, ever supposed to take the hits for him. It was the other way around.

The point wasn't that argument, though, or Ducky's knowing look, or even the small mountain of shrapnel that he'd felt an irrational urge to shoot. The point was the way his gut had felt right before the explosion had hit.

It had felt like that for the past week.

So he was more grimly concerned than surprised when he got a call from Franks.

The gunfire on the other end, though. The fact that Franks had actually admitted that he needed help, _now get down here, probie!_ \- That was a little past concerning. Not that he'd ever say so to Franks.

If he'd taken the time to tell the kids, he'd have ended up with three ghosts curled up in his suitcase and he knew it, so he told the director he needed leave and didn't tell the team until he was already at the airport.

Even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell them directly. Instead, he called his dad and asked him to come over to the house for a few days until he got back.

Between worry for Franks and guilt he refused to acknowledge, it wasn't exactly a comfortable plane ride.

Franks had spent too long hunting ghosts to be comfortable with Mexico's celebration of them, so he'd settled down in a cabin close enough to the beach that no ghost would go near it no matter what the laws said.

It also meant Gibbs wasn't too worried that the bodies on the beach were about to spring to a semblance of life.

He picked his way through them carefully, checking to make sure that they were really dead. All of them had been shot, some multiple times.

On the very edge of the beach, next to the boat Gibbs had built for him, was Mike Franks.

Five bullets had riddled his chest. Gibbs checked his gun. It was empty.

He knelt down heavily in the sand. "Ah, Franks."

He should have been here sooner. He didn't know how he could have been, but he should have - Something.

Franks' cell phone lay in the sand beside him. He'd probably died right after making that call.

Franks was dead. It was hard to wrap his head around the concept. Franks had always seemed just a bit larger than life, more the embodiment of old cowboy justice than an actual man.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to get here, Special Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs twisted. His hand automatically went to his gun.

The cool metal of a gun barrel rose to his head and stopped him. He was getting old if he was letting a thug for hire like that sneak up on him.

Two more thugs stood ready with weapons midway between him and the cabin. In between them was a woman who carried himself like she had more steel in her than any of the weapons did.

She smiled. "Paloma Reynosa," she introduced herself.

"You responsible for this?" Gibbs demanded.

She tilted her head, considering. "Responsibility is a tricky thing, Agent Gibbs. One could say Franks himself was responsible. He was the one who started shooting, after all."

"Yeah? And why'd he do that?"

Her smile grew broader. "Perhaps because he had an unreasoning attachment to you. Come, Agent Gibbs. Have a seat. We have much to talk about, I think."

Gibbs stood slowly. The barrel of the gun rose with him. One of the other thugs stepped in and confiscated both his main weapon and his spare.

He missed the knife, though.

Reynosa settled into a chair that put her back to the beach, forcing Gibbs to take one that looked out over the dead bodies.

They were good motivation for figuring out a way to put a bullet through this woman's skull.

"What do you want with me?"

"Tennessee Williams once said, 'Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes, you'll know you're dead.'" She took a glass of water off the porch railing and took a sip from it.

He recognized the glass. It was one of Franks'.

Skipping the 'arrest' stage of justice was looking more and more tempting.

"He might have been right." She leaned forward. "I want you to look forward to it anyway."

What had he done to this woman?

"When I was a girl, my mother got a phone call. She came and told my brother and I that our father had been murdered. We tried for years to get justice but," she shrugged, "no one could discover who had done the deed. Until lately, when my brother finally managed to get the case reviewed once more. Drink?"

He didn't bother answering that.

She took another sip of hers. "My father was Pedro Hernandez. You shot him."

"He killed my family."

"Ah, but I thought you government agents were supposed to be better than that. Isn't that your self-righteous line? Justice and the law. But you decided you were above it, and if you can choose to do so, why can't I? With one bullet, you destroyed my family, Agent Gibbs. You destroyed my childhood. Everything I might have been, gone with one bullet. My father's life for your family, yes? So, then, your family for my father."

"So you went after Franks," he growled.

Her smile was as polite and sophisticated as ever. "Franks was to get you out of the country. I was far more interested to learn you had children."

Gibbs was on his feet in an instant, surging forward to attack.

Her thugs moved instantly. One grabbed his arm. Before he could shake him off, another had a gun once again pressed to his forehead.

Reynosa hadn't even twitched. "Three of them. All being watched over by your aging father. It was good of you to take them in, Agent Gibbs. Not many men in your country would be so inclined to take in so many children. Especially ones that were already dead."

"If you lay one finger on them - "

"They are dead." She shrugged. "A finger would be pointless. Salt, however . . . That's another matter entirely. I've got a team waiting just outside your house, ready to strike."

The last person he could remember hating this much was Ari. His whole body ached with the need to lash out, but he forced himself to stay still until he had an opportunity. Getting himself shot wouldn't solve anything.

"What do you want from me?" he growled. There must be something. She wouldn't have dragged him out here if there wasn't something she wanted. Whatever it was, whatever the cost - and it wouldn't be pretty, he knew that much - he'd pay it, if it meant keeping them safe.

Not what a federal agent was supposed to do, but the only action he could contemplate.

He couldn't lose another child. Not like this. Not ever.

"What do I want?" Reynosa repeated. She stood and walked around the table. "Nothing very much." She patted him on the head like she was reassuring a dog.

Gibbs resisted the urge to growl at her. He could take insults. He could take anything if he meant her vengeance would be settled on him, where it belonged.

"It won't require much effort on your part at all." She disappeared into Franks' cabin for a minute. Gibbs could practically hear Franks yelling at her.

She emerged with a laptop that she settled on the porch railing. A live video feed was already set up on it.

"I want you to watch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was all going to be one chapter, but my original plan for the next chapter just wasn't going to work, so I needed something to fill the gap. You don't mind cliffhangers, right?
> 
> References to: "Rule 51" and "Spider and the Fly".
> 
> Next chapter: Rivera.


	21. Rivera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's going to die.

Ziva was going to _kill_ Gibbs when he got back.

The words were a bit too close to a raw spot, even within her own head, but the urge to wince at her own thoughts didn't change her anger.

What had he been thinking, running off and leaving them like this? Did he not know what it would do to her to have him out of sight and unprotected? What it would do to Tony to be left behind? To Tim to -

Well, Tim was handling this better than she would have expected, actually. He had always been the best adjusted of all of them.

And it wasn't as if they were completely abandoned. Jackson was here and seeing him was always a pleasure. Being around someone who didn't know how much blood was on her hands helped her forget it was there.

But no amount of home cooked meals or bright children's movies could take away the pinched look hiding behind Tony's bright smiles. Tony had stood by her after Somalia, protecting her and pushing her in turns until she was something approaching normal again, or at least functional. The least she could do was stand beside him at times like this.

She hurled a paper wad down at Tony from her perch on the back of the couch.

He didn't even flinch. He just kept looking at the cheerfully singing figures on the screen.

The singing was pretty, Ziva had to admit, but no one was that aggressively cheerful unless they'd been drugged.

She shared a worried glance with Tim. Being engrossed in a movie was one thing. This was another.

"I saw that," Tony said. He still hadn't moved his head.

Ziva sighed. Of course he had.

The oven dinged in the kitchen. "Macaroni's done, kids."

Ziva rolled off the back of the couch and landed on the floor in a crouch.

"I give it a seven out of ten ninjas."

Perhaps Tony was not wholly withdrawn after all.

They were almost to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

They froze.

"Maybe they'll go away?" Tim whispered hopefully.

The doorbell rang again.

"They will have seen the lights. They know someone is home."

They could see Jackson through the doorway to the kitchen. "I'll get it," the old man muttered. "You lot stay out of sight. I won't let them in."

Tony nodded and started herding them toward the staircase.

Ziva let him. It was good for him to feel useful.

The doorbell rang again. "I'm comin', I'm comin'," Jackson called. "No patience, these days."

Ziva could hear the door open.

A gunshot split the air.

 

Alejandro Rivera knew that coming here was most likely a mistake. There was just too high a risk that someone would discover exactly what he had been up to on his "vacation". It would have been safer to stay within the confines of the law. Prosecute this the right way.

But Paloma had been right when she'd convinced him that sometimes this was the only way.

Waiting there in the rental car with three of his sister's men as darkness fell, he was glad he'd listened. The dark coil of anger inside him was finally loosening into something free and exhilarating.

Two other cars idled nearby. They'd brought twelve men in all.

When the sun had finally set, he gripped his gun and got out of the car. His men followed after him.

Three circled around back to prevent escape. The rest fanned out behind him as he went up to the front door and rang the bell.

He pressed it twice more when he didn't get a response. A nervous, jittery energy was making him impatient.

_This is for you, Papa._

Someone was drawing closer to the door. He raised his gun.

An elderly man finally managed to open it. His chest was level with Rivera's gun.

Rivera fired.

_This is for Paloma. For how she used to be._

There was a camera on his hat designed to capture the action. He made sure to look down at the corpse so that the camera could get a good angle.

He put his gun away. It would be useless for the rest of the night.

He pulled two salt packs off his belt instead. Some of the men behind him were armed with guns designed to fire pellets filled with salt and other things that were less than ghost friendly, but they fired differently than normal guns, and it was safest to stick with what he knew.

He stepped over the body and entered the house, salt packs at the ready as he scanned for movement.

A movie was playing in the living room. The music was jarringly happy.

More men were filling the house. He could hear the three in the back kicking down the door.

"Living room clear," he called.

"Kitchen clear," someone responded.

"There's a basement. Matias and I will go check it out."

A couple of men headed for the staircase that lead upstairs.

"Up - "

A gun fired. One of the men fell down the stairs. The others were shouting and firing with their modified weapons.

An unearthly shriek split the air. Rivera ran for the stairs and got there in time to see a little girl with blood red eyes sink into one of his men.

Someone had turned the stair light on. He could see the blood be sponged out of the man. Could see his skin go dead white as he collapsed.

Rivera threw one of his salt packs at the body. More men ran for the stairs.

_This is for my mother._

Pain shot up Rivera's shoulder as a gun went off again. He turned to see two small, defiant ghosts crouched at the top of the stairs and armed with federal issue guns.

They fired again. A man behind him went down.

More shouting came from downstairs. The girl ghost must have fallen straight through the stairs to avoid the salt.

He ripped off another salt pack with his good arm and tossed it up the stairs. The taller ghost tackled the other one to the ground to avoid it. The smaller one never stopped firing.

He had lost caught of how many of his men had been hit. There was a pretty even split of salt vests and bullet proof vests among them, but few vests accommodated both.

None were adapted for knives.

He looked down at the metal sticking out of his gut in a daze. The girl - Mossad, she had been Mossad - snarled at him from the bottom of the steps.

He slid slowly down the railing.

He had known coming here was most likely a bad idea.

 

Watching his kids go into danger on the job was bad enough. This was something else entirely, but Gibbs forced himself to watch as the men walked up his driveway.

Watched and hoped.

He jerked like the bullet had hit him when Rivera fired the first shot of the evening.

_Dad._

Just like that. No fanfare. No chance to save him. Just a bullet motivated by Gibbs' long ago vengeance and given opportunity by him asking his dad to come up while he ran off to Mexico again.

Then the men were in his house, stepping over his dad like he was so much trash, and they were hunting his kids.

Every man they took down was a shot closer to safety.

And to blood madness.

Gibbs didn't know what it was about the man that Ziva threw a knife at that made Paloma cry out, but the thug behind him jerked in surprise at the sound, and that was all the opportunity Gibbs needed.

The gun had risen an inch when the thug had flinched, and now Gibbs drove an elbow into his gut as he twisted into a crouch. The gun fired, but it was over his head, and almost only counted in horse shoes and hand grenades.

Gibbs had his knife out. He threw himself at the man to the side of him and jabbed the knife into his neck. He pulled the gun out of the man's hands and turned, already firing.

The man he'd elbowed earlier went down without firing a shot. The third man managed to get one off.

Gibbs dove to the side. Fire grazed his right arm, but he was long past caring. He fired again.

Thug number three went down.

Another bullet thudded into his arm.

Reynosa hadn't gotten to be head of a drug cartel by being helpless.

Gibbs hadn't survived this long by not taking down people who hurt his family.

His gun went off one, two, three more times, and Reynosa collapsed to the sand.

Only one of those shots had probably been necessary.

The video on the laptop had cut off. It could be a good sign.

But then again, just because the cameras were dead didn't mean all the men were.

He couldn't just leave Franks here to rot on the beach, but he couldn't afford to wait for the Mexican authorities to wade through what had happened either.

He called an anonymous tip in and wiped down anything that might have his fingerprints on it.

Then he took off running for the vehicle he'd rented.

He needed to get home. Now.

 

By the time he'd gotten through the airport security and managed to drive back to his neighborhood, his house was covered in crime scene tape, and the FBI were standing in his hallway.

It was Fornell's team, at least. That was something, even if it didn't feel like much right now.

Franks was gone. His dad was gone. His kids -

"Gibbs!" A hand latched onto his arm.

He turned to see a near frantic Ziva. Tony and Tim weren't far behind her. All were in their adult forms.

He grabbed onto Ziva's shoulders since she was the closest. "You're all right?" he demanded.

She waved a dismissive hand. "There was minor damage. Ducky cleaned us all up hours ago. Gibbs, your father - " And then even Ziva's eyes got over full. "Gibbs, I am so sorry. I should have realized - "

"No," he stopped her. "This one's not on you. Not on any of you."

"Not on you either, Boss," Tony said quietly. His voice sounded scratchy and rough.

They could argue about that one later. For now, he just hung onto them as tightly as he could.

Fornell'd tease him about it later, but he didn't much care.

"Fornell wants to know why a bunch of grown NCIS agents were watching Tangled, by the way," Tony muttered into his shoulder in a hesitant attempt to help the only way he could think of.

If he'd been another man, Gibbs might have laughed until that laughter turned into sobs.

But Gibbs wasn't that man, so he just held on tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be a funny little chapter where Diana showed up and there were a ton of evil stepmother jokes, but I had no confidence in my ability to write that, so I wrote this instead.
> 
> . . . You're probably not thanking me for that right now.
> 
> References to "Spider and the Fly".
> 
> Next up: Eyes Open. Fair warning, it's not exactly going to be a bucket of laughs either.


	22. Eyes Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziva's father comes to visit. This goes about as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would recommend that you read "Little Girl Falling" before reading this. It's not necessary to do so in order to understand the action, but I think it will help illuminate the emotional arc.

Ziva was worried about Gibbs. That in and of itself was not uncommon, but being unsure what to do about it was. Generally, if she was worried about it Gibbs it was because someone was coming after him again. External threats she had plenty of experience with, and she handled them accordingly.

But Jackson's death had hit Gibbs hard even if getting him to admit it was frustratingly difficult. This, Ziva was at a loss to help him with. The death was avenged and the practical matters long since handled. That left emotional support, and while she was gifted in many areas, that was not one of them. Particularly with someone as tricky as Gibbs on the receiving end of it.

The case they had just wrapped up would not be helping matters, she was sure. A drug dealer had shot a former marine to provoke the man's son.

The team was supposed to finalizing their reports, but she wasn't the only one who kept stopping to sneak a glance at Gibbs.

Gibbs, predictably, didn't even have to look up to bark, "Quit looking at me and finish those reports already!"

Tony winced. "On it, Boss." Tim hunkered down over his keyboard.

Ziva clicked print. "Already done." She retrieved the papers from the printer, stapled them together, and handed them over.

Gibbs glared at her irritably. "Find something else to do, then."

"Of course, Gibbs." She glanced at his empty coffee cup. "I will be back in fifteen minutes."

She did not exactly make a habit of going for coffee runs, but under the circumstances, it seemed like the most productive action to take.

Besides, the walk would do her good. It had been too long since she had gone on an errand without company. They stuck together in the field for safety reasons, and they traveled home together for practical ones. Time to herself these days tended to mean those brief minutes in her bedroom between Gibbs tucking her in and Tony poking his head into her room to convince her to join him and McGee in whatever mischief they had planned.

As good as it was to have a family, it was good to have moments like this too. She might not truly be alone - going for a walk on a sunny day in D.C. guaranteed that she wasn't - but in a crowd of strangers, she might as well be.

She stepped into the coffee shop. At this time of the afternoon, there wasn't much of a line. She recognized the barista.

"One black coffee, please."

"This for Gibbs?" the woman asked knowingly.

"Yes."

"I'm pretty sure that man is trying to figure out a way to live solely on coffee and stubbornness. One Gibbs' special, coming right up." The woman turned around to prepare the beverage.

The hairs on the back of Ziva's neck stood up. She turned around casually, leaning against the counter like she just wanted a bit of a rest. If someone was following her -

"Abba," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Her father let the coffee shop door swing shut behind him. He looked - old. Older than she ever remembered him being before.

And he was looking at her. He was looking at her, right in the eye.

It took everything Ziva had not to let her form start shaking.

He smiled at her. Slightly cautiously, as though unsure of his welcome.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"What, a father cannot come to see his daughter?"

" _You_ do not," she pointed out. She scanned the windows behind him for traces of his guards.

Her father guessed what she was doing. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just me. No one else."

She wasn't sure if it would disturb her more if he was lying to her or if he was telling the truth.

"Is there a problem?" The barista sounded wary.

She expected her father to step in with reassurances. When he did not, Ziva cleared her throat - unnecessary, but comforting - and said, "No. Thank you." She took the styrofoam cup from the counter blindly and reached for her wallet.

"No, no. Allow me, please." Her father hurried over and handed the barista some money. Too much money. "Do you have a minute, Ziva?"

He was still looking at her. Not past her or through her, but actually looking.

Part of her wanted to say that she had all the time he needed. Part of her wanted to say that she had run out of time for him when Ari died.

What she said was, "I have to return to the office, but you can walk with me."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Ziva waited until they were safely on the sidewalk before she turned to him. "What are you doing here?" she asked again. "Tell me."

Her father shrugged. "I am an old man, Ziva. Is it so strange that I should want to see you?"

"You never did before."

Her father flinched and looked away from her for the first time. "No," he admitted. "It was too painful."

"It should not have been about you."

"No," he conceded. "I know this. I - " He raised a hand helplessly. "I made a mistake, Ziva. I am sorry."

_Sorry._

Ziva started walking again. Striding, really, fast and angry. "Sorry for what? For raising me to be a killer? For asking me to kill my brother? For leaving me in Somalia? For not looking at me, not once, not in nearly thirty years?"

He reached out to touch her arm. She shrugged him off.

"I have failed you, I know, but I have come because I think I finally have a chance at redemption. I am meeting with a man - "

"So there is more to the visit than coming to see me. Of course there is." It was dangerous for a ghost to let themselves get too angry, but at the moment, she didn't much care.

"Ziva - "

"No! I am done!" She had slipped into Hebrew without meaning to.

"You are still Mossad," her father pointed out.

"Only because I have to be if I want to stay here. Or are you threatening that status?"

"Never. But if I am to remain director, then this deal must go through. My successor may not be as sympathetic."

They were nearly back to the Navy Yard now. The styrofoam cup was shaking in her hand.

"Then I wish you luck with it." She hesitated. It was not a wise decision to walk away. Her training insisted she at least hear him out so that she could secure her own position if nothing else.

But the voice reminding her of that was faint beneath the rolling waves of anger and hurt, and it sounded too much like her father lecturing her for her to pay much attention.

And if things did go wrong, then Gibbs could handle it.

"Goodbye, Abba."

She looked back, once, as she walked away.

Her father's eyes were still locked on her.

 

She flipped the emergency switch in the elevator and stayed there until she was calm enough to slip her mask back in place.

Two minutes. That was all she could allow herself. She flipped the switch again and rode up.

Tony glanced up as she entered the bullpen. "You okay?"

Apparently her mask was not as good as she thought. She considered lying, briefly, but Gibbs glanced up at her as she set the drink on his desk, and he was paying enough attention that she would never get away with it.

"My father is here. He - spoke with me." The words came out stilted.

"What'd he want?" Tim asked.

"Forget what he wanted, you okay?" Tony countered.

She swallowed. "I am fine."

"Why's he here?" Gibbs asked.

"Some sort of deal. I do not know the specifics."

Gibbs nodded. "Are you going to help him with it?"

"No." But the anger was fading and regret was trickling in. "Perhaps. If he asks again, and it is not something bad . . . "

"He asks again, you tell me," Gibbs ordered.

She nodded. "Of course, Gibbs."

As she settled into her chair, she noticed Director Vance getting into the elevator. Presumably he had a meeting of some sort to go to.

She didn't think much of it.

 

It was almost time to go when Gibbs got a call. He listened for a few minutes before barking questions into the phone. Whatever the answers were, they didn't seem to make him very happy.

He finally slammed the phone down.

"What's up, Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs looked up at them bleakly. "Director Vance has been shot. It's not life threatening. He should be fine."

"Who shot him?" Tim demanded.

Gibbs ignored the question. Instead he looked over at Ziva. A heavy feeling settled into her stomach. "He was in a meeting with Eli David and one other, unidentified, man. Neither of them made it."

Ziva closed her eyes. She should have have been with him. She should never have walked away. She had been handed the chance she had always wanted, and she had turned it down like -

She didn't realize she was flickering until she felt Gibbs and Tony converge around her and start leading her to the elevator.

"McGee, go get Abby to take care of the footage," Gibbs barked.

Tony was saying something, but she didn't care what.

Gibbs had never answered McGee's question.

She forced herself to push aside what she was feeling and regain control. She stood against the back wall of the elevator stiffly. "I am fine. I apologize for losing control."

"You're allowed to not be fine, Ziva."

She brushed Gibbs' comment off. "Who did this?"

"Don't know. Still working on that bit, but we'll get them."

Yes. Yes, she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by the excellent song, "Eyes Open" by Taylor Swift for The Hunger Games.
> 
> Portraying Ziva is always tricky. I want her to be vulnerable without being seen as weak and composed without seeming emotionless.
> 
> Next up, the hunt for Eli David's killer continues, but there's a distraction in the form of the character that inspired the title of the next chapter: Admiral. Yes, as in Admiral John McGee.


	23. Admiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fathers are a tricky topic.

"I love locked room mysteries."

"Even locked room mysteries where the director's breathing down our necks because that locked room was hosting a party for really important people in the navy?" Tim asked as he followed Tony down the narrow service hallway that led to the ballroom.

Tony winced. "Okay, those maybe not so much. Hold on a second." He crouched down next to a small mark on the wall.

"Evidence?" Tim asked hopefully.

"Graffiti." Tony stood back up and kept walking. "So who's your money on, McGee? One of the admirals? A server?"

"A caterer?"

"Possible," Tony allowed. "Personally, my money's on one of the admirals' wives."

"You always think it's the wife."

"Hey, statistically speaking, poison is more likely to be a woman's weapon of choice than a man's."

"Not always," Tim countered, thinking of the stories he'd heard about how the team had met Kate.

Judging by the look on Tony's face, he was thinking about the same thing. Tim winced.

Tony conceded the point with an over bright smile. "Not always," he agreed. "But typically." He stopped at one of the dull grey doors. "This is the last door to the ballroom. If one of the servers or caterers did it, they didn't leave any evidence in the hallway, which all things considered is hardly surprising. Time to see if Gibbs needs any help with the witnesses."

Considering there had been over a hundred guests at the party, Tim was thinking the answer to that would be _yes._

Tony pushed open the door, but rather than slipping through and going to find Gibbs, he froze in the doorway.

"Hurry it up, Tony," Tim grumbled.

"You! Agent! I had a meeting that started an hour ago. We've been here for hours. If you have questions, ask them or contact me later. I need to go."

Tim froze. He knew that voice.

Tony froze for a moment too before regaining his composure. "Admiral McGee. Just let me go talk to Special Agent Gibbs and I'll see what I can do for you." He glanced back at McGee. "McDonald, you go take care of the evidence."

"What evi- "

_Go, you idiot,_ Tony mouthed at him.

Right. They couldn't risk his dad recognizing him.

Tim stumbled back the way they'd come. Tony shut the door firmly behind him.

 

The downside to the CIA and FBI taking over Eli David's case was that they could only work on it unofficially. The upside was that this meant they wouldn't have to do any of the paperwork, but that wasn't particularly comforting when they got assigned to other, official, cases. Particularly when those cases involved Admiral McGee.

Tony smiled brightly at the Admiral and strolled over to where Gibbs and Ziva were taking witness statements. Gibbs didn't look happy. Tony didn't blame him. The witnesses had been left in the same room for hours. There had been plenty of time for stories to be gotten straight.

Gibbs glanced up at him. "Anything?"

"Depends on your definition." Tony let his eyes wander back over to Admiral McGee. "Did you know he was here?"

Gibbs followed his gaze and visibly bit back a curse. "Tim?"

"Safely out of sight," Tony assured him. "The admiral's in a bit of a hurry. You want me to get him safely gone, or . . . ?"

Gibbs considered. "No chance he'll see Tim?"

"Shouldn't be."

A hint of a smile twitched around Gibbs' lips. "Let him sweat."

Tony grinned. "You got it, Boss. You want to be the one to handle him?"

Gibbs' face said very clearly, _What do you think?_

Tony's grin broadened. "Got it, Boss."

Admiral McGee was the very last witness Gibbs interviewed. Tony kind of wished he'd brought popcorn.

 

Tim splashed water from the sink onto his face. Tony had spent the ride back to the Navy Yard giving him a blow by blow account of the interview. It had been funny, right up until it wasn't.

Even with Gibbs standing in between him and what he wanted, his father still respected the man. Tim could understand that. It was hard not to respect Gibbs.

But if being Gibbs was what it took to earn his father's respect, then Tim was in trouble because he was a lot of things, but Gibbs was never going to be one of them.

The door opened. Tim straightened quickly.

He gaped at the person who slipped in. "Ziva? You can't be in here!"

She waved a dismissive hand. "It is just the two of us in here, yes? And we are unlikely to be interrupted."

Tim could guess what this was about. "I'm fine."

"You do not look it. Did your father say something?"

Tim slumped back up against the sink. "How could he? He didn't even see me. I've been saying for years that I want to make him proud, but the first time I get within ten feet of him I take off running."

"Because if he realized who you are, all of us could be in a good bit of trouble. There is a difference between cowardice and common sense, McGee."

Tim shrugged miserably. "I know. It's just . . . After everything that's happened, I've been thinking, you know? And I've realized I'm never going to be the son he wanted me to be. I'm never going to be able to make him proud of me."

"You are a federal agent. You have solved crimes and saved countless lives at considerable risk to yourself. You voluntarily went to Somalia in a nearly hopeless attempt to rescue me. You have kept control of yourself after decades of being a ghost. If that is not something that would make your father proud, then I do not think you are the one at fault."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "It's just, this is what I stayed for. If I have to let that go, what _am_ I staying for?"

"To make Gibbs proud of you," she suggested.

Tim perked up a bit at that idea. "Do you think I could?"

"Already am, kid," Gibbs said gruffly.

They both jumped and turned to see him leaning through the door.

"Break's over. Abby figured out that the poison came from the Caribbean."

Ziva straightened. "Where Admiral Caine's wife just got back from vacation."

Tim groaned. "Tony was right. He's going to be insufferable."

"Don't have a confession yet," Gibbs pointed out. "Back to work."

They filed out of the bathroom.

_Already am, kid._

Tim couldn't help it if there was a little bit of extra bounce in his step.

 

Gibbs was sanding the ribs of his boat when a little bundle of dark curls came slipping down the steps. Gibbs tossed her a piece of sandpaper. She went to the other side of the boat and got to work.

"Tony was right," she finally said. "Melinda Caine poisoned her husband."

"She wanted revenge," Gibbs said. "It happens." Particularly when there was a family situation that resembled a soap opera as much as the Caine's had.

The case wasn't what Ziva had come down here to talk about. "McGee says the FBI know who shot my father," she said abruptly.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "He being careful?"

"Yes, of course," she said impatiently. "It was Ilan Bodnar." She spat the name out. "He was supposed to be my father's successor. They are tracking him, but they do not know him like I do."

"You want to go after him."

"In my place, would you not?"

Gibbs sanded in silence for a few minutes. "I ever tell you about my first wife?"

"You had a daughter with her," Ziva said carefully. "They were both killed."

"I went after the man who did it. Shot him right in the head and salted the body."

Ziva nodded as if this answered her earlier question.

"He had kids," Gibbs went on.

"Just because a man has a family does not mean that he does not deserve to die."

"Paloma Reynosa and Alejandro Rivera." Their names dropped into the sudden silence in the basement. "They took exception to my shooting him, so they killed Franks. Killed my dad."

Ziva stared at him, wide eyed. They had known what had happened, but he had never been able to bring himself to tell them why.

"Could have killed you three, too," Gibbs added quietly. He finally set the sandpaper down. "If you want to go after Bodnar, I won't stop you, and I won't make you do it on your own. I'll be with you the whole way. But I want you to be sure, first, that you're ready to face whatever might come after."

She didn't answer immediately. Gibbs was glad of that at least. He let her be the one to break the silence.

"I have to do this, Gibbs."

He nodded once. "Then we'll track him down." With the choices he'd made, it would be hypocritical to do otherwise, and he wasn't about to let her go in this emotionally compromised without backup.

His gut was telling him he'd regret it, but in the end, it wasn't really his choice to make. He glanced at his watch. "Come on. It's late."

Whatever the fallout was, he'd deal with it. For now, he'd do what little he could and tuck his kids in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was ridiculously hard to write, but it's done at long last.
> 
> General reference to "Squall" I suppose, although I didn't really take much from the episode.
> 
> Next up: A Touch of Red.


	24. A Touch of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence and potentially disturbing imagery.

There was a story her father used to tell her before she died. It was a story about wishes and what they cost.

That was a long time ago. She couldn't remember it very clearly now.

Possibly because she didn't want to.

She could not remember the stories, but she could remember her father's voice saying, _Getting what you wished for is not the same as getting what you want._

 

McGee had set up a program for tracking Bodnar. If he passed within the range of any of the security cameras Tim had either hacked or had legal access to, they'd know.

Tim was in the next room over, watching Star Wars with Tony. Gibbs was upstairs, presumably asleep.

Ziva had promised Tony she'd join them in five minutes. That had been ten minutes ago. The endlessly flashing screens were soothing in a strange way, and watching them made her feel like she was at least trying to do something.

The computer beeped.

She stared at it. A new pop-up had come up on the center of the screen. The screen had stopped flashing and had settled on a picture of Bodnar headed for a dilapidated house. Two men she recognized as mercenaries were following his lead.

The address blinked at her.

She didn't bother using the door. She was through the wall in seconds, pausing only long enough to snatch the keys to the car from where Gibbs had left them.

It wasn't until she had stretched into her adult form so that she could reach the accelerator that she considered this might be the wrong way to do this. She should stop and get help. Get more weapons, at the least.

But while her mind considered, her body was already pushing down hard on the gas and accelerating toward where Bodnar was hiding like an insect beneath a rock.

It was a bad idea, the rational part of her insisted.

If that rational side had been a bit more in control, it could have pointed out that this was an excellent example of why research suggested juvenile apparitions were more dangerous than their adult counterparts. There was less impulse control, fewer reasoning skills, and permanently halted development of the brain.

But the rational side was small at the moment. The assassin in her wanted revenge, the ghost wanted blood, and the child didn't want to wait.

She turned the car in a move that would have made even Gibbs cringe and swerved around the few cars still out at this time of night.

She was almost there.

 

_Thirteen little mercenaries, safe in the house. Then came a ghost as quiet as a mouse._

He didn't like the feel of this job. It ought to be simple, but Bodnar was nervous, and his paranoia was catching.

Irritated, Rumlow turned back towards the house. He'd stand watch if he had to, but he wanted to be closer to backup when he did.

Something ripped through him. His corpse fell to the driveway, dry as an Israeli desert.

_Twelve little mercenaries, safe in the house. Then came a ghost as quiet as a mouse._

Benjamin saw Rumlow fall. He opened his mouth to yell. His gun was already up and ready to fire.

Something white flew out of the darkness and into his head like a thick choking fog.

He clawed at it. It was in his lungs, get it off, get it _out_ -

_Eleven little mercenaries, safe in the house. Then came a ghost as quiet as a mouse._

Samuel had always worn iron under his vest. His mother had insisted.

He hummed at his position by the back door. It was getting late. Hopefully one of the others would come to relieve him soon.

Something darted under the crack and reached for him. He stumbled back with a yell. He fumbled for his knife. Bullets wouldn't do him any good here.

_Careless, careless, careless -_

If the ghost cared about the iron in his jacket, he wasn't around to see her flinch.

_Ten little mercenaries, safe in the house. Then came a ghost as quiet as a mouse._

They were sleeping. One on the couch. One in a chair. Three had found beds and the others made do with rugs.

The one in the chair had heard something. He looked up blearily. "My watch already?"

He was the only one to wake.

The blood was so, so sweet.

_One little mercenary that was supposed to be the heir._

He had thought himself a son, once, but he hadn't been. Eli David had told his children stories before they'd died. Stories that Bodnar had never heard.

Ziva did not remember the stories, but she did remember the tricks that her father had taught her once she was dead.

The ghost would have just drained his blood, but the girl had a will for something stronger than blood.

Bodnar woke up and was smart enough to run. He was smart enough to have iron on him and salt nearby. An ordinary ghost would have fallen.

But Mossad trained them to be better than that.

The neighbors probably heard the screams.

The girl just drank the blood in, nice and slow.

_Thirteen little mercenaries, dead in the house. There stood a ghost as quiet as a mouse._

 

She remembered pulling to a stop before even entering the neighborhood so as to avoid attracting attention. She remembered walking toward the house. She remembered the way she had felt. Clouded and angry and so, so cold.

After that she remembered red and pain and warmth. Screams, maybe. Something sweet and hot.

When she was sane enough to count again, she came to the slow realization that there had been more than Bodnar in the house. There had been something like thirteen men, and they were all dead.

They were all armed, so after a few minutes of slow contemplation, she decided she did not feel bad about this.

There was blood on the walls, but not much of it. Most of it she could feel pulsing through herself which was probably why it took her so long to realize there was an iron knife sticking out of her shoulder. She could barely even feel it, but she pulled it out.

Bodnar was one of the bodies. She didn't remember killing him, but she must have. She must have.

_It is not fair,_ she thought fuzzily. _I should be able to remember it._

Then she started laughing because fair wasn't something she'd had much to do with - ever, possibly. She had deserved better than the death she had gotten, and she deserved much less than the family she had found afterwards.

Everything was still trickle slow and colored red. She was warm, but she could be warmer. She wanted to be warmer.

Sirens pierced the night. That was odd. She would have thought that Gibbs would get here first.

Someone started to head up the stairs to where she waited next to Bodnar. They were warm. She could just -

No.

She shot through a wall and let herself fall to the ground. It was harder than it should have been. The blood made her solid. More solid. Something. It was still hard to think, but she could not - she must not -

She ran like she had not for ages. When her head was clearer, when she could trust herself, she would go find Gibbs. She would explain. He would be angry, but he would understand.

Cobbling together a plan was exhausting, but at least for now all she had to do was run until she found a place to wait. She just had to wait until her head was clearer.

So she waited.

And waited.

When she saw the sun rise and realized suddenly that it was the third time this had happened, she considered reaching for her iron knife.

It was not where it should have been. She must have lost it in the fight.

There was a nail sticking up in the alley where she was waiting. She poked it experimentally.

Nothing. Not iron, then.

She kept poking it for lack of anything better to do.

Then a rat ran past and she snatched at it. The blood slipped through her, warm and pleasant, though not as good as before.

The last thing she needed was more blood, she realized too late.

There was more of it just beyond these walls. She could -

She should not.

At the moment she was not entirely clear on her name, but she was very clear on the fact that she must not do the one thing she wanted most.

She was not sure why, but she thought it had something to do with another kind of warmth.

 

Tony was intimately familiar with the notion of panic. Just not, "Oh, hey, where's Ziva - Hey, is that a hit on your program, McGeek, and by the way, where's the car?" panic.

A brief, vicious thumb war had decided who had to wake Gibbs up. Tony shoved Tim through the door and ran to call a taxi.

He grabbed his badge and his gun, just in case the police got to the house first.

Three days later, Ziva was still nowhere to be found, but they'd found her half a world away. They could find her here.

And if all else failed, they could track down her bones and drench them in blood till she had no choice but to come back and complain about what they'd done to the coffin lining.

 

There was no good reason for Tony to check this particular back alley. He'd been checking every back alley he could find, less because he thought it would work and more because he refused to believe Ziva had just been salted.

That was the problem with ghosts. There wasn't a body to find.

But the others were looking too, and there was no reason not to check this back alley, and - "Ziva!"

He ran forward and crouched beside her. She was curled up around herself, half-hidden in the shadow of a trash can, and still in her adult form.

Her eyes were bright red.

"Ziva?"

She looked up at him.

"Tony," she said finally like it took effort.

He swallowed. "The one and only. You all right there?"

"I . . . " She frowned. "I used to know. How many I had killed. I do not know now."

_No,_ Tony translated. "Okay. Let's just get you back to Gibbs - "

"No!"

"No?" Tony asked, bewildered.

"He - I cannot - "

"He's not angry," Tony reassured her. Okay, that wasn't strictly speaking true, but he was more worried angry than he was truly angry, and they could work with that.

"It is not . . . safe."

Something clenched in Tony's gut at the way she struggled for words. "What are you talking about? Bodnar's dead."

Ziva shook her head in frustration. "Too many - Too many - "

Looking at her eyes, it wasn't hard to guess. "Too much blood?"

She nodded in relief.

"That's all right. You just need time. You can take a break from the field for a while."

She shook her head. "I can't - ever. Not again."

Kill was the word she was looking for, Tony guessed. Or possibly she was avoiding it to avoid going on a murderous rampage. He should probably avoid it too. "Fair enough. Okay, we'll see about getting you a desk job then. Or you could just stay home. I think that's what Gibbs secretly wants anyway. He'd probably throw a party if we all quite fieldwork. Well, not a party, it's Gibbs, but you know what I mean."

Ziva was still shaking her head. "Not safe."

"You'd be perfectly safe."

_"Gibbs,"_ she said insistently. "Not safe."

Tony looked at her bright red eyes and tried to find the words to argue with her. "We'll make it safe."

She just looked at him.

"You're family," he insisted. "We'll figure it out. You just need time, that's all. I'll call Gibbs and - "

She should have been sluggish from all the blood sloshing around inside her. Somehow she still managed to dart to her feet and run past him.

"Ziva!"

He ran after her. She was fast, but he was faster. He could outrun her like he'd outrun Kate. He'd outrun the wind if it would keep their family together.

It was hard to judge how long he'd been running when his feet never got sore and his breathing never hitched.

He wasn't sure how long he ran. Just where he ended up.

Ziva was standing outside a ghost hunter's office. A good one's. The kind where running through the walls would leave a ghost drained by iron and shaking with salt.

"Ziva, calm down. Listen, if you could run all the way here without killing anyone, you'll be fine around Gibbs. He can keep his distance if you want. It'll be fine."

Except they had taken the back alleys, his traitorous mind reminded him. And they had been running, not in prolonged contact with anyone.

"No," Ziva said again. Her words might be slow, but she was no less determined because of it.

Tony glanced anxiously at the building. He couldn't afford to drag this out here. He needed her to get out of here.

He backed up slowly, hands raised. "This isn't over," he warned her. "You're going to call, and when you're better, you're going to come back."

"If I'm better," she corrected, and then she was gone.

Tony was tempted to sink down onto the sidewalk and even more tempted to run after her, but one was a stupid idea even for him, and the other wouldn't achieve anything, so he just trudged home.

He worked up the nerve to call the others. "Come home," he said dully and hung up before they could answer.

 

He was sitting at the kitchen table when they ran in. He'd been spinning his badge for what felt like hours but what was probably only minutes.

"Tony?" Gibbs demanded. Tim was right behind him.

"She's not blood mad," Tony said. His voice still sounded flat, but he was very sure on that point. "But she said she wasn't safe either." He couldn't look at Gibbs. "I tried, Gibbs, I did, but it was walk away or let her all but _salt herself_ \- " He cut himself off. No excuses. Done was done.

Gibbs was stuck on the "not safe" part. "Not safe for me," he interpreted.

Tony could guess what was going through his head. Better in his mind for Ziva to come home for Tim and Tony than for her to stay away for his sake. He could get an apartment, he could sleep at the office, he could -

And Tim would be no better. He'd be thinking he should have made the alarm on his program louder. He'd be thinking he never should have made it at all.

None of which, Tony thought, suddenly furious, none of which changed the fact that it had been her choice, all of it. It wasn't their fault she'd run off, it wasn't their fault this had happened, it wasn't -

_Your fault, your fault, always your fault, why didn't you see, why didn't you realize, why didn't you convince her -_

"I told her to come home. That we'd work it out." He needed them to know that. "She said she'd come home when she was better."

Gibbs ran a hand over his face. "Her choice," he said, like he was trying to convince himself.

"Always was," Tony agreed bitterly.

He could all but see Gibbs retreat to somewhere far, far away, so he slipped out of his char and grabbed Tim's arm. He pulled Tim up the stairs and into their room. He doubted Gibbs noticed they were gone.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" Tim asked shakily.

Tony let out a long breath, the half-question, half-threat he'd been about to form suddenly irrelevant. "Not for anything short of salt," he said and thought of Kate. "A mountain of it," he added.

 

He'd had three daughters. One had begged him to stay, and he'd left her, so it wasn't surprising she hadn't waited on him. One had wanted to stay, but not more than she'd wanted to get away from the pain, and he hadn't been enough to convince her otherwise. And one . . . One had wanted revenge enough to risk everything and had chosen to walk away rather than work it out.

He wasn't enough. He never had been.

For a case in point of why, he thought bitterly, he looked up to notice it nearly midnight, and his boys were nowhere to be seen.

He didn't run. Not quite. Just - fast. He had to be fast. Had to see -

_Please, no. Please, don't. Don't let them have left too, anything, anything but that._

The light was out in their room. There wasn't even the glow of one of Tim's electronic doodads.

There were, however, two lumps in the bed.

It was too dark for the relief to show on his face, so he didn't bother to stop it.

"Thought you weren't coming," Tony said quietly from his edge of the bed.

"Thought you knew better than that," Gibbs countered gruffly. Tony was shaking slightly when he tucked the covers around him. Gibbs wished that it was from something as fixable as cold. "Night, kid," he said more gently before moving over to Tim.

Tim grabbed his wrist before he could reach for the blankets. "Don't go."

"Not going anywhere," he promised. Not for another thirty years or so, at any rate.

He pushed away the thought and sat on the bed. He wished, not for the first time, that words came easier to him. That he could say something to fix this. To bring Ziva back.

But there was a reason he kept his sentences clipped, so he did the only thing he could and settled in between them.

In the morning, he'd have to find a way to explain this to Vance.

In the morning, he'd have to find a way to tell the truth to Abby, Ducky, and Palmer.

He'd do it bluntly. Quickly. Best to get it over with.

It would be the living with it that would be difficult. The endless should have beens he'd tell the others to dismiss that could never leave him alone. The empty hole in a house that would be too quiet once more.

And he couldn't help but wonder as he stroked Tony's hair _exactly_ how many more kills Ziva had than Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are approaching the end of this story, although not the end of the series. Next chapter will be the climax, and then there's just the wrapping up of loose ends. With that in mind, brace yourself for a bit more darkness. The good things are coming.


	25. Ya'aburnee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At what point is staying no longer worth it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS! PLEASE READ: Chapter includes consideration of actions that could be construed as suicidal as well as the carrying out of actions that could be considered such.
> 
> And a request: Read to the end. Whatever happens, just read all the way to the end.

In hindsight, Tony was pretty sure the reason Vance had sent the first three replacements their way was because he wanted to get rid of them and didn't have the grounds to fire them.

Vance was lucky they didn't turn up dead. Martin had nearly shot Gibbs when his trigger finger got twitchy, Shelby had accidentally crashed Tim's computer, and Reubens had bullied Palmer mercilessly due to his status as a ghost.

Bishop was nice, he had to admit, and she wasn't hopelessly stupid. This could work.

Provided they got around the snack issue, that is.

Gibbs snatched the bag of chips out of her hand. "No food in the bullpen, Bishop."

Tony hastily shoved the last of his salt free pizza in his mouth and slid the box under his desk.

"But - "

Gibbs ignored her protest. "And go wash your hands. Techs get mad if there's grease on the computers."

"I'll clean it up later! I food associate, Gibbs, I need it!"

Gibbs didn't even look up. "Wash. Now."

She looked around for support. Tony held up his hands in mock helplessness.

He did slip her one of his ghost friendly chocolate bars after lunch, but if she was going to work with them, she was going to _have_ to cut down on her salt intake.

 

Taking down the Calling hadn't been the worst case of his career, but it was definitely in the top ten. They were still doing mop-up work a month later, and Gibbs was heartily sick of it.

"I'm going for coffee," he announced, pushing himself back from his desk. Tony and Bishop looked up and nodded from their positions on the telephones. Tim kept working at his computer.

"Should have something for you by the time you get back, Boss."

Good. He wanted this over with.

It was raining hard out there, hard enough to keep most people indoors, but Gibbs needed coffee, and despite what Vance claimed, there wasn't any in NCIS headquarters. Brown stuff claiming to be coffee, yes. Actual coffee, no.

He ordered his usual from the coffee shop and stopped just outside it to take a quick sip. He wasn't as young as he used to be. He needed a bit more energy to keep him going.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed a white van pulling to a stop beside the sidewalk. Instinct made him look around quickly.

Just not quite quickly enough.

 

Tim finished tracing the money he'd been following and readied the information to be put up on the screen. "Ready, Boss."

When no answer came, he looked up to see that Gibbs had not yet made it back to the bullpen. He glanced at the time. That was odd. It had taken him a little longer than he'd thought to find the source of the funds. Gibbs should have been back by now.

Tony glanced up from his own work. "Did you say something, McGoo?"

Tim frowned. "Where's Gibbs?"

Tony looked around the bullpen like he was just now realizing he wasn't back. "Bishop?"

She shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to wait out the worst of the rain?"

 _"Gibbs?"_ Tony and Tim demanded simultaneously.

Tony looked at the clock again. "Let's give him ten more minutes. If he's not back by then, I'll go make sure he hasn't decided to save time by moving into the coffee shop."

The next ten minutes were spent watching the clock and the elevator more than they were on actual work. There could be a good reason for all this, Tim managed to convince himself. Maybe he ran into Ziva and was trying to convince her to come home.

Maybe he ran into Ziva and she'd lost the last of her self control.

 _Exactly_ ten minutes later, Tony hopped to his feet. "Right. I'm going to go check on him."

Tim half rose. "Want me to come too?"

Tony shook his head. "Don't worry about it, McGeek. It's not like we're going to investigate a crime scene."

Tim gulped. Tony gave a reassuring smile to both of them and disappeared into the elevator.

Bishop chewed on her lip. "What if he doesn't come back either?"

"Don't joke about that."

 

Tony thanked the lady behind the counter and called McWorrywart before he could get himself too worked up. "Has Gibbs shown up yet?"

"No. What'd you find?"

"He made it to the coffee shop. He didn't meet anyone here, and he looked fine to the barista." Tony weighed his options for a minute. On the one hand, someone being missing for a little under an hour wasn't near enough time to open an investigation. On the other hand, _Gibbs._ "I'm going to see if I can get a look at the security camera footage."

Tim sounded relieved. "Good idea. I'll call you if he shows back up."

"You'd better." Tony hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket before turning back to the barista with his most charming smile. "I don't suppose you have any security cameras just outside your store, do you? You do? Perfect. Think I could take a look at the footage?"

 

Gibbs woke up on a cold concrete floor. Crates of something were stacked up to a high ceiling.

A warehouse. How original.

Someone had slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth, and more had been used to tie up his arms and legs. They must not have been professionals, though, because they'd tied his arms in front, not back.

He could use that. As soon as the room stopped spinning enough for him to see, he could use that.

Something was beeping nearby. The sound irritated his pounding headache.

He closed his eyes. _Get it together, Gunny,_ he could hear Franks say. _This ain't no time for coddling._

 

"McGee, I've got the security camera footage. I'm bringing it over now for you and Abby to analyze."

Tim was staring at his computer screen. "Please tell me you've got something."

Tony's voice was tight. "I do, but you're not going to like it."

Tim couldn't look away from the picture in his inbox. "Somebody grabbed Gibbs."

There was a pause. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"They, uh, sent me an email." Gibbs unconscious and bound was bad enough. The bomb ticking away in the corner of the picture was worse.

"Can you trace it?" Tony demanded.

Trace it. Right. He had to trace it. "I'll try." The phone rang. Unknown number. "Give me a second." He set his cellphone down and picked up the desk phone. "Hello?"

"We have your team leader."

A part of Tim panicked at those words. He wasn't the one that was supposed to carry on this kind of talk. That was Gibbs' job. That was Tony's.

The rest of him balanced the phone between his ear and his shoulder so that his fingers were free to fly across the keyboard and begin the trace. "What do you want?"

"Release Daniel Budd from prison and bring him to us in twelve hours, or Gibbs dies."

The Calling, then. They were some of Budd's adult collaborators from the Calling. "It's not that easy. We're going to need more time." It didn't matter how much time they had, they couldn't do it, but he needed to drag this call out.

Although with more time they might could arrange a prison break. That could work.

Tim put that thought on hold.

"Twelve hours," the caller insisted.

He was close. So close.

"Where should we bring him?"

"We will call again when you have him."

"How will you know?"

The man laughed. "We will know." The line clicked off.

Bishop was gripping the edge of his desk. "McGee?"

He looked up at her, grinning. "And _that_ is why you never do an evil laugh."

"You got him?"

"I got him." Tim picked up the phone. "Tony, I've got a location."

"Give it to me and I'll meet you there."

"You don't have a vest!"

"Bring me one." Tony was being Gibbs again. There was no arguing with him when he got like this.

"Fine." Tim rattled off the address before hanging up the phone.

"Something going on I should know about?"

Tim winced. Vance was leaning over the stairway railing. "Er, yes, Director." He rushed through the situation as quickly as he could.

"And you didn't think to _tell_ me before now?" Vance's expression promised there would be words on this later. "You're going to need backup."

"Just as long as they're fast," Bishop said.

Tim's estimation of her went up a few notches.

 

The warehouse was just outside the city limits. Tony suspected that the building had originally been intended for another purpose because it was surrounded by a frankly ridiculously large parking lot. Not that he could make use of it, seeing as metal gates blocked both the north and south entrances.

He stopped at the south one and got out. He could climb the gate easily enough, or just slip through it if it came to that.

Another car screeched to a stop just behind him. Tony swung around, gun up and ready. "NCIS! Put your hands up!"

The man in the driver's seat raised his eyebrows and carefully drew out his badge with two fingers.

Tony lowered his gun. The man and three team members got out of the car.

They were in uniform. Naturally.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm a bit jumpy."

"Understandable. You DiNozzo?"

"Yep," he said tensely. They needed to get going, not stand around chatting.

The man frowned. "They didn't tell you we were coming?"

"They probably had a few other things on their minds." Like Gibbs and a ticking bomb.

The man nodded briskly. "I'm Wilson, that's Fisk, that's Michaels, and that's Gordon. Where's the rest of your team?"

"Good question." He hit the number on his speed dial. "Tim? Where are you?"

"North entrance."

It would be better to even up the numbers, but the video only showed two kidnappers and they needed to cover both sides. "Fine. You take that side, we've got this one."

It meant he didn't have a vest, but he didn't much care. Tony hopped the fence.

_Hang on, Gibbs._

 

He could hear voices echoing somewhere else in the warehouse. They sounded upset about something, but they never got any closer.

The numbers on the timer were too blurry for Gibbs to read them, but the fact that there was a timer at all was enough reason to get out of here. His head had cleared enough for him to remember his knife. He worked it to a position of usability carefully and started sawing at the duct tape around his wrists.

_That the best you can do, Gunny? You've got kids counting on you out there._

Gibbs worked faster.

 

Tim had just settled his comm into his ear when his cell phone rang from inside the car.

It was probably nothing, but his gut said otherwise. He signaled for Bishop to wait and picked it up.

"We just got the news from the prison," a voice snarled in the other end.

"Hey, we're working on it, okay? We've still got time."

"Budd is dead!"

Tim closed his eyes. Of all the days for that to happen, it had to be today. Not yesterday when it could have prevented this. Not tomorrow when it would be over. Today.

Tony could spin some sort of story about this. He could make it work. He could too. He just had to, just had to -

"And now your friend will be too."

"No," he choked out. "Wait, listen, we can still work something out - "

The line went dead. Tim took off running.

 

The timer had been a nice effect, but the way the bomb was really detonated was through a simple cell phone call. Rousseau and Mathers exited the warehouse. It would be best if they could drive off some distance before making the call.

Except there were agents visible at the south entrance to the warehouse. More, presumably, were at the north one.

They hadn't overdone it on the explosives. After all, they were intended to kill only one man. They were probably already in the safe zone.

Mathers pressed the last number on his phone. It made his wounded arm twinge, but he didn't much care.

 

Tim's panicking voice came in over the comms. "Tony, they're going to kill Gibbs."

Tony saw two figures exit the warehouse. He started running forward. "NCIS! Put your hands up!"

They did. He could hear the others behind him. It was all right. They had gotten the men, they would go in and get Gibbs -

The explosives blew.

The warehouse shook, but it didn't fall. It didn't have to. It didn't take that much to kill one man.

Just one man.

_Gibbs._

Gordon's hand was on his shoulder. "DiNozzo! Hey, DiNozzo! You with me?"

Tony stared unseeingly at the warehouse. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others handcuffing the two men that had come from the warehouse.

He should have shot them when they first came out.

"I have to check," he told Gordon jerkily. "There's a chance - "

Gordon shook his head. "Not until we get someone in here who can tell us if it's safe to go in."

Tony laughed. The sound didn't come out quite right. Safe? _Safe?_ He'd be perfectly fine. He was already dead. And even if there was some sort of salt trap, what did it matter?

Gibbs was gone.

"Tony?" Tim's voice sounded very small over the comm. Bishop was saying something too, but it was too hard to concentrate for him to bother to figure out what.

Gibbs was _gone._

That wasn't - He couldn't -

He'd managed to make it to about the middle of the parking lot. The now cuffed criminals were being led towards him and Gordon. They were only a few yards away now.

One of the men - not men, they'd killed Gibbs, they weren't men, they'd stolen _Gibbs_ \- had a bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Something must have happened to it. Something recent. A splotch of red had stained the outside of the cloth.

Red.

They were alive and Gibbs wasn't. One of them was smiling, and the other was bleeding.

Gibbs had never, not once, thought of them as monsters.

But Gibbs, Gibbs was gone, and he couldn't help but remember that if you had enough blood, it got really hard to think.

 

DiNozzo didn't so much rip out of his grasp as slide through his hand. Gordon jerked back.

One second DiNozzo had been a normal agent. A bit in shock, maybe, but normal.

He wasn't sure what color his eyes had been, but they hadn't been red.

DiNozzo lunged for the bleeding suspect. Wilson pushed the cuffed man out of the way and ripped off a salt pack that he lobbed at him.

Not him. It.

Gordon had never seen a ghost that was quite this far gone.

It recoiled, a strangled scream erupting as the salt touched it, before twisting forward again. It's face had lost some of its definition. Blurry around the edges now, but sharp and dangerous in its central features.

Particularly the teeth.

"Ghost at the south side!" he yelled into the comm as he threw his own salt pack. How had this happened? "We need you over here, now!"

One of the NCIS agents was shouting something through the comm, but the ghost had turned around to focus on Gordon and he didn't have time to reply. The ghost was flashing in and out, the others still bombarding it with salt, but Gordon still stumbled back. Those _eyes -_

 

Tim broke out of his daze and started running again. "Don't salt him!" he yelled through the comm. "I repeat, do NOT salt him!"

Bishop was right behind him. "McGee, what - "

He didn't have time to explain. "Tony, what's going on? Tony!"

He finally came around the corner of the building. He could see the ring of agents surrounding Tony now. The two suspects could have been making a run for it, but they seemed to be transfixed by the scene.

Tony had fallen. He was writhing from the salt they must have been filling him with. His form was shrinking into the child's form, not the agent's, and it was flickering.

Mainly, though, Tim just heard the screams.

Was this what Kate had -

"Don't you _dare_ give up!" he yelled at Tony through the comms. "You don't get to leave. Not now." Not with Kate gone, Ziva gone, Gibbs gone - "You promised mountains of salt, Tony, I'm not seeing any mountains. Just hold on!"

_Don't you dare leave me here alone._

But those screams . . .

He realized suddenly that it wasn't just noise ripped from agonized lungs. Tony was calling for Gibbs.

Dead didn't have to mean gone. Maybe Gibbs was about to show up.

But if Gibbs _could_ do anything, he would have already done it, and Tony was looking smaller and smaller.

Tim pulled his gun out, although he wasn't sure what he meant to do with it. "Tony," he begged.

Bishop tugged at his gun hand. "McGee, what is going on?"

He was right behind the backup Vance had insisted on sending. One of them was reaching for another salt pack. McGee grabbed his arm.

Tony was huddled into the concrete, blinking in and out. In and out.

Out.

Out.

Out.

"Tony, please," he whispered.

He could have sworn he heard, _"Sorry, McGeek."_

The pavement was empty. Two of the men grabbed their suspects. Tim sat down hard on one of the white lines dividing the concrete. The remaining two agents turned on him and Bishop.

Bishop was staring at Tim in horror. "He was a ghost."

Tim just nodded.

Kate. Jackson. Ziva. Gibbs. Tony.

That made him the oldest, so he would have to tell the others. Abby and Ducky and Palmer and yet still just him, just him left, to stare at the concrete and feel tears most scientists agreed were impossible slide down his face.

"You knew," one of the men he didn't know said.

What? Oh. Right. That was a crime. "I did," he said bleakly. Would they salt him too?

"You have the right to remain silent," the same man said, almost kindly.

They didn't know, he realized. He could tell them. He could show them. It might be easier.

Was that what Tony -

He stood and let them cuff him. He could slip out of the cuffs easily, but what would be the point?

He heard someone call for more backup to process the scene. He just stared straight ahead and tried not to think.

He had to hold on until the others knew, he decided. After that, he might as well move on.

 

Gibbs woke up to the beeping on a monitor. He turned his head to glare at it.

Vance was sitting in a chair beside whatever the beeping machine was.

He was in a hospital. Wonderful.

Where were the others?

"You awake, Gibbs?"

Gibbs rubbed at his head. "Where's my team?"

Vance didn't answer. "Do you remember what happened?"

Gibbs shook his head impatiently. "Someone knocked me out on my way back from a coffee run. I woke up tied up in a warehouse next to a bomb. Used my knife to get loose and tried to get out of there. Guess I didn't get far enough."

Vance half smiled. "Rule nine," he muttered. "You've got a concussion, some abrasions, and some very abused ribs, but otherwise you're fine." He settled back in his chair. "It took us a while to find you. We weren't sure we were going to find you at all."

"And my team?" Gibbs insisted.

Vance shifted uncomfortably. "Bishop's fine. They're asking her a few questions, but it's pretty apparent she doesn't know anything. McGee could be in some real trouble, though."

"Trouble for what?" Gibbs growled. "And where's DiNozzo?"

Vance leaned forward. "Your doctors don't want me to tell you this, but I know you, and I know what you'll do if I don't." He took a deep breath. "DiNozzo's dead."

Gibbs froze.

"He has been for some time. We found the grave, and he was never the man you thought you knew. He just pretended to be."

"You found the grave," Gibbs repeated.

"He came back as a ghost. We've salted the main apparition, and I've sent agents to take care of the bones - "

Gibbs pushed himself up out of the bed and grabbed his cell phone and keys from the table beside him.

"Gibbs - " Vance grabbed for his arm.

"Call them off," Gibbs demanded.

"You know I can't do that."

Gibbs ripped his arm free and was out the door.

Vance was smart enough to call for the nurses and get a hospital wide alert going. It didn't stop Gibbs, but it did slow him down enough to force him to find some clothes so he wouldn't be so conspicuous. He punched numbers into his phone as he went. "Ducky, I need you at the hospital now. Bring blood."

"Er, this is Palmer, actually. They've called Dr. Mallard in for questioning about - "

Gibbs growled. "Then _you_ get it to me, Palmer!"

"I'm already outside," Palmer stuttered. "Dr. Mallard wanted me out of there just in case, and he wanted someone to check on you, so - "

Gibbs cut him off again. "Do you have blood?"

"In the back with the other equipment." Palmer took a deep breath. "Is it true that Tony's gone?"

"Not yet." He slammed his phone shut and pushed his way out the hospital doors. Palmer had managed to get a spot near the front. He waved from the window.

Gibbs ran for the door to the driver's seat. Palmer figured out what he was doing just in time and pushed himself to the side. Gibbs threw himself in and slammed on the gas.

If he had gotten to Kate's grave a minute earlier, he could have saved her. He wouldn't be making the same mistake twice.

"Call this number," he ordered Palmer. "It'll get you the caretaker to the cemetery. Tell him not to let anyone near Tony's grave but me."

Palmer punched in the number with shaking fingers. "Will he do it?"

"He's an old friend." Gibbs whipped through traffic. Tim needed him too, but he had to take care of this first. First Tony, then Tim, then he could see if there was anything he could do for Ziva.

And Ducky and Abby. They could be implicated in this mess too, and it was his job to get them out of it.

"The caretaker says he'll do his best but that there are federal agents being really pushy," Palmer reported nervously.

"Not good enough," Gibbs growled. There was a red light up ahead. Gibbs ignored it. Horns honked behind him. He really couldn't care less.

Gibbs' phone buzzed. Probably Vance. Gibbs ignored it. The cemetery was just up ahead.

He squeezed the van into a space it really shouldn't have fit into and jumped out. "Get me blood from the back," he ordered and ran for the gate.

The rain from earlier had stopped, leaving the day grey and the ground wet. On a clear day, the cemetery was peaceful, even beautiful. Today, it felt bleak and oppressive.

There was a huddle of people and equipment around a very familiar grave.

_Not again. Not this. Not Tony. Please, not again._

He could see the coffin sitting beside the upturned earth. It had already been raised from the vault. The small stone jutted out defiantly off to one side of a knot of arguing people.

He should call out, say something, do something, but everything felt trapped and choked in his throat. He didn't even have his gun with him.

The caretaker was standing with his arms crossed in front of the coffin. "I can't let you do any more without a signed agreement from the next of kin," he said stubbornly.

"According to the 1957 Ghost Act, you _can_ ," Agent Eames said with fraying patience.

His partner, Agent Roberts turned around and saw Gibbs. "Hey, Gibbs! A little help here?" The digging crew looked up hopefully. They probably just wanted to get this done so they could get out of here.

They hadn't had a chance to salt the body yet.

"I'll take care of this," he told Roberts and Eames. "Why don't the two of you head on back?"

Eames glanced between him and the tombstone uncertainly. "He was on your team, Gibbs. It's against regulations . . . "

"It's my responsibility," Gibbs said firmly. "My team, my mess. Rule 45."

Eames and Roberts looked at each other uncertainly.

"Well," Roberts chewed on her lip. "I mean, if you're sure, Gibbs."

"I need to do this." His tone suggested that was the end of the matter.

Eames nodded hesitantly. "Glad to see you're all right, Gibbs."

Well, his ribs were throbbing in time with his headache and his arm felt like it was on fire, but he was mobile, so that was good enough. He nodded to dismiss them and turned to watch as they slowly walked away.

Eric Magnus, the caretaker, looked over questioningly at Gibbs. "You all right?"

"Fine," Gibbs brushed him off. "Thank you."

"Anytime. I'll be over the way if you need me." He strolled off, whistling.

"Want us to get the top off for you?" one of the digging crew asked.

"Go ahead." He glanced back and saw Palmer hovering uncertainly at the gate. He held up a hand for him to wait.

The digging crew got the lid of the coffin opened easily enough. Gibbs walked over and looked inside.

This part never got any easier. Those bones weren't Tony, not the way he knew him, but at the same time, they were all that was left of him. He looked back up at the digging crew. "The ghost was strong enough to make this one a little tricky. You might want to wait with Magnus. Get something hot to drink."

The digging crew glanced at each other before agreeing and walking after Magnus.

Palmer jogged up behind Gibbs with a spray bottle full of blood. "I've got more in the back if he needs it." He glanced at the tombstone. "Did he pick that out?"

Gibbs' lips twitched despite themselves. "Yep."

_Tony DiNozzo. 1968 - 1978. "I'll be back."_

_\- The Terminator_ was written in smaller letters under the quote. It wasn't the sort of phrasing encouraged on tombstones, but Tony had insisted on a movie quote, and Gibbs had given in.

'Tony' not 'Anthony', because he'd hated his full name. No 'jr.' because after all that had happened he hadn't wanted the connection to his father.

 _"I'll be back."_ That had better be true.

Gibbs took the spray bottle from Palmer, who for once showed some tact and backed away to a nearby tree to give him some space.

Gibbs got to work.

There was no salt to brush off this time. He just started at the top and worked his way down, just like Ducky had instructed the first time.

Tony would come back. He had to.

When the bottle was halfway empty, he started talking. "Come on, Tony," he growled. "Don't give up on me now. Come on. Come on."

_Don't take him. Please don't take him. Don't make me lose anyone else, please. Not him. Not him._

One quarter of a bottle left.

_Not Tony. Please not Tony. Let him come back. Don't take him now._

"You don't get to give up. Not like this. We still need you, Tony."

There were two, maybe three sprays left. He hesitated before pulling the trigger. This or nothing, Ducky had said. If these sprays didn't work . . .

But maybe they already had worked. His Sight was weakening. Maybe Tony was already here, and he just couldn't see him.

One.

Nothing.

Two.

Nothing.

A few drops hovered inside.

"Please."

They clung to the nozzle and then dripped onto the rib cage.

Something white curled up faintly like a mist fading as the sun rose.

Gibbs' breath caught. "Tony?" he called, more vulnerable than he could ever remember sounding.

The mist shuddered.

"Palmer, get me more blood!"

Palmer took off running.

"I'm right here, kid. I've got you. We'll have you back up to strength in no time. It'll be all right, kid. It's going to be all right." Tony would be, at least. If he ever found out who had done this, though, they were going to be far, far, from it.

His Sight wasn't very good anymore, but his other senses for the paranormal were fine. He could sense Tony struggling, straddling the fence between life and death even more than normal.

"Just hold on, kid."

The mist flickered, and for the first time, Gibbs considered the possibility that Tony might not want to.

He couldn't hear him, not exactly, but he could sense something from the vague shape curled around the bones. The memory of pain. Confusion. Longing for someone just out of reach.

"Tony . . . "

He needed him here, and he could keep him here, too. If he poured enough blood, if he kept talking, Tony would come back. He knew the kid well enough to know that. He would stay for as long as Gibbs asked him to.

But if he wanted to move on . . .

Tim needed him, Gibbs argued immediately. Abby. Ducky. Palmer. Ziva, wherever she was. It wasn't just Gibbs that wanted him there.

But Palmer was still rummaging through the van, and it was his call to make.

Parenting was never supposed to be about what the parent needed.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. Thirteen years since he'd found Tony. Almost fourteen now. All that time, and he'd given Tony everything he could. Everything except for the one thing Tony was waiting for, the one thing he'd shown but never quite dared to say.

"I love you, kid," he whispered. Not words he threw around lightly. Words that under the circumstances stuck in his throat and came out rough and painful.

True words, though.

The mist shuddered again, and Gibbs had to grip the coffin to stop himself from doing something he'd regret.

Tony's choice, but he wasn't ready. He was never going to be ready.

. . . Except the mist didn't disappear. If anything, it looked . . . clearer? More defined.

 _Love you too, Gibbs,_ he heard on the edges of sound.

"Got it!" Palmer yelled. He ran up the hill. "Right here!" He beamed at the coffin. "Hi, Tony! You scared us for a minute."

Gibbs didn't bother with spraying it this time. He just dumped it straight into the coffin.

Tony slowly came into focus until an outline of his true form was clearly visible. He wasn't up to shape-shifting, not yet, but they could work on that.

"I thought you were dead," Tony said accusingly.

Gibbs let out a half-laugh of pure relief. _Thank You. Thank You, thank You, thank You. "Not yet."_

Tony nodded, accepting that for the moment. "Sorry, Boss," he said sheepishly. "I kind of lost it for a minute."

"Rule six," Gibbs reminded him. "You all right?"

"I think I might need some help," he admitted.

Picking him up wasn't easy, as unsubstantial as he was, but Gibbs managed it. "We'll get some Caff-POW in you," he promised. "You'll be fine."

"McGee's going to tease me for weeks," Tony grumbled, but he curled in closer to Gibbs' borrowed jacket. "He's all right, isn't he?" he added worriedly.

"He will be."

Once he got Tony settled in the car, he'd have to come back and put the lid on the coffin before calling the digging crew in to put it back in the ground. Then he'd either have to find some way to sort this out with Vance or find a way to break everyone out and head for Mexico.

As long as they were all still together, either way suited him fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for the false hope with Kate finally revealed: to provide foreshadowing for this.
> 
> It doesn't dovetail with canon at all, but I planned it out before I knew anything more than that Michael Weatherly was leaving, and, well, canon wasn't exactly going to work with this AU.
> 
> I apologize for not having a dedicated Bishop chapter, but that first section was all I could think of for her. I had to jam it together with this one.
> 
> General references to late S12, early S13.
> 
> There's one more chapter still to go. Working title is "This is How It's Going to Be." 
> 
> Oh, and translation for the chapter title is "You bury me." It's an Arabic phrase that means you hope you don't have live without this person. There was a lot of that going on in this chapter, so it seemed appropriate.


	26. This is How It's Going to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Tony's safe, it's time to save the rest of his kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You managed to surprise me. I was expecting to get yelled at for that last chapter.
> 
> Here's the ending!

Gibbs' phone hadn't stopped buzzing since he'd gotten back to the van. He'd considered throwing it out the window, but contrary to popular belief, he had listened to McGee's latest grumbling about how hard it was to find this model, so he settled for turning it off.

Tony was in the passenger seat working his way through a Caff-POW! where Gibbs could see him. Palmer hung on in the back.

"What's the plan, Boss?"

"I'm going to try and go sort this mess out with Vance. You and Palmer are going to stay safely out of the way."

Tony hunched over in his seat. "Sorry, Gibbs."

Gibbs dismissed the apology as unnecessary with a shake of his head. Vance had been asking questions for a while. It was only a matter of time before something got out.

"Um, sir?" Palmer said hesitantly. "If something goes wrong, won't they think to look for us at your house?"

"Probably," Gibbs allowed. "Which is why we aren't going there." He pulled onto an exit.

"Where are we going then?" Palmer asked.

"I built a cabin in the woods a while back. I never got around to registering it. You should be fine there for a few days."

"And if something goes wrong?" Tony asked.

"Then make a call over whether to stay there or to risk heading for Mexico."

Tony set his chin stubbornly. "We're not leaving you behind."

Gibbs glanced back, hoping Palmer would be more easily cowed.

Unfortunately, Palmer seemed to have found some hidden steel. "I'm not leaving Dr. Mallard."

"This isn't a democracy," Gibbs snapped.

"Technically it's a republic," Tony said agreeably. "Our point still stands."

"It's not going to come to that."

No matter what, he was keeping his team safe.

 

Gibbs slammed open the door to the interrogation room. Vance paused mid-pace behind Tim. Tim kept looking down at the table dejectedly.

"Care to explain why all three interrogation rooms are filled with my team, Leon?"

Tim jumped, eyes widening. "Gibbs!"

Gibbs' glare sharpened. "You didn't tell him I was alive?" he demanded.

"I thought it might be best to wait. You're really not supposed to be out of the hospital yet, Gibbs."

"And my team isn't supposed to be treated like suspects!"

"They hid the existence - "

"And that's what you're going to charge them with?" Gibbs demanded. "That they successfully hid the presence of a ghost in NCIS headquarters for thirteen years, including your whole term as director? That'll get the reporters fired up. I'm sure it'll look good with SecNav, too."

Vance winced. Gibbs pushed on.

"You ready to lose the team with the best closure rate in NCIS history? You ready to lose Abby, Palmer, and Ducky?"

"Now's not really the best time for this discussion, Gibbs," Vance said, looking pointedly at the camera before doing a double take.

"I got the tech to turn it off before he went on lunch break."

"It's six o'clock, Gibbs."

Gibbs shrugged. "Dinner break, then."

Tim had leaned his head back so he could watch them like a tennis match.

Vance broke first. "Tell me you didn't know about this."

"Tony DiNozzo has the potential to be a better agent than I'll ever be. That's what I know, and as far as the job's concerned, that's all I care about."

"And outside the job?"

"Outside the job, this team's all I've got left," Gibbs said quietly. "He's a good kid."

Vance started pacing again. "I can't just let this go, Gibbs. Too many people know about it."

Tim piped up for the first time. "You could get him registered."

Gibbs and Vance both swung around to look at him. He shrugged uncomfortably. "If he was registered, it wouldn't matter, and no one would notice if the rest just went away." He looked at Gibbs anxiously. "You did get him back, right?"

"You resummoned a ghost?" Vance exploded.

Gibbs shrugged innocently. "If I did?"

Vance sighed. "All or nothing, huh?" He sat down and scrubbed a hand across his face. "I'll call in some favors to get them registered. Both of them."

"S-sir?" Tim stuttered.

Vance looked at him wryly. "You were flickering for about five minutes there."

Tim flushed red. Vance sighed. "You're free to go. I'll give the order for Miss Sciuto and Dr. Mallard to be released as well."

Gibbs hid his relief and simply nodded. "Thank you, Leon."

"Do not make me regret this," Vance warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gibbs assured him.

 

After extricating himself from Abby's desperate hug and explaining the situation to Ducky, he went to find Bishop. She was slumped behind her desk in the bullpen. "Hey, Gibbs," she said quietly.

"You all right there, Bishop?"

"Yeah." She forced herself to sit up. "So what's the word on the others?"

"Vance has dropped all charges," Gibbs said, watching her face carefully.

She straightened immediately. "Really? That's great!"

"And he's going to get Tony registered." He'd save the news about Tim until he was sure how she would react.

"I thought - He's still here?"

Gibbs nodded. "That going to be a problem?"

She chewed on her lip. "He's not . . . dangerous?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

Bishop nodded slowly. "Is this why I couldn't have salt in the bullpen?"

Gibbs allowed himself a rare grin. "That, and because of McGee. See you Monday, Bishop." He headed for the elevator. Tim was already in the car.

"McGee's dead too?" she called after him.

"Welcome to the family, Bishop," he called back.

 

The files of investigations on behalf of his kids had mostly been closed. The contents of the files in his desk drawer had been replaced with carefully obtained registration documents and a renewed foreign allowance for Ziva.

Just in case.

Tony flicked rubber bands at Bishop, who tried to deflect with one of Abby's lab baked, salt free cookies. Tim was eyeing the plate of them on her desk speculatively.

The phone rang. Gibbs listened to the dispatch on the other hand, nodded, and hung up.

"Grab your gear," he told his team. He tossed the keys to a grinning DiNozzo.

"You can drive, right?" Bishop asked in a low undertone as they headed for the elevator.

"I have a license," Tony assured her. "Of course, Abby issued it, and Gibbs taught me, so . . . "

Bishop gulped.

Tim snatched two cookies off her desk on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I love Gibbs' innocent expression.
> 
> So here it is, the last chapter. It's been an incredible ride, and I've had an unbelievable amount of fun with this. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Your encouragement has been amazing.
> 
> I know I left questions with this. What happens once Gibbs dies? What happens if something goes wrong and Vance does indeed regret it? From the beginning, though, I knew this was the kind of ending I wanted. The team's together, they're solving a case, and the potential for adventure and family is wide open before them.
> 
> Moreover, it feels like the right place to leave it thematically. Each of them faced and dealt with fulfilling the reason they stayed. Kate wanted to protect her family. Once she had, both in "Fear Itself" and "Little Toy Guns", she was okay with giving in to the pain and moving on. Tim wanted to make his dad proud, and he did, even if his father figure changed, but he didn't want it to be a one time deal. He wanted to keep doing it, so he stuck around. Tony wanted attention and to be loved; he got it, so he reciprocated it by staying. Ziva wanted first to be useful, than to not be monstrous, and Gibbs gave her both, even if she turned her back on it.
> 
> That said, I'm not done with Ziva yet. A oneshot finishing up her storyline will be out soon, as will a oneshot dealing with how, exactly, Palmer died, and giving a closer look at what he's been up to. I also have a sort of weird piece that's . . . sort of a character study? I don't even know, but I like it, so it's going up.
> 
> If there's something you want to see, now's the time to request it. I make no promises - I'd rather leave a prompt unfilled than write something forced and awkward if my mind's just not generating anything for it - but sometimes, in listing all the reasons why I can't write something, I get inspired to do it. (That's how I got Palmer's story written.) Feel free to ask for anything from Gibbs' ex-wives to general whump, but please be understanding if I don't end up writing it. No matter how excellent the prompt, sometimes I just can't write it.


End file.
